


you'll be tearing me apart (sooner or later)

by SheOfWrittings



Series: three lifetimes (and all the years in between). [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Tragedy, Ben Hargreeves Deserves Better, Ben Hargreeves is Alive, Ben Hargreeves' Tentacles | Bentacles, Character Death, Cool Motive Still Luther, Diego Hargreeves is Bad at Feelings, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional stunted people, End of the World, F/M, Family Drama, Family Issues, Five Hargreeves needs a nap, Good Brother Ben Hargreeves, Good Brother Diego Hargreeves, Good Sister Allison Hargreeves, Good Sister Vanya Hargreeves, Grace Hargreeves Appreciation, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Isolation, Klaus Hargreeves Ends The World, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, Lesbian Vanya Hargreeves, Let Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) Say Fuck, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Loss of Control, M/M, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Pogo Appreciation, Protective Ben Hargreeves, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Protective Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Sad Ending, Season 1 Spoilers, Sober Klaus Hargreeves, Struggling Brother Five Hargreeves, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, This will be sad I warn you, Vanya Hargreeves Needs A Hug, post-Season 1, the siblings are still pretty fucked
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2019-11-16 12:09:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18094037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheOfWrittings/pseuds/SheOfWrittings
Summary: The world ends again.It took longer this time aroundThis time it's because a junkie was sober and the Hargreeves can only unfuck one sibling per time.(this time they are six vs one and still lose. this time, when they fail, they don't time travel with the bomb.)





	1. the matter of the bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they had done this before  
> they would clearly have to do it again

If the world had ended in white fury and the lovely sound of a violin when Vanya was the head of it, the world ending around them now does so in a morbid, loud manner that speaks of hunger and rage and grief and blood.

 

There are blue figures everywhere, physical to the touch and to touch, ghost manifested and materialized overtaking the streets all around them, claiming the city's attention as they once did Klaus’. As soon as a person was murdered, another blue figure was added to the raging army and it would continue on until the world's population was consumed by death.

 

_He remembers thinking distinctively once, while his brother was in the other room with Ossobuco guy, as he looked through the window, down at the dead overcrowding the streets — all ages, all genders, all time periods, all levels of sanity, all deaths and state of decay — that there would be nothing as terrifying as having them roam free upon the living._

_For a moment, he had been grateful that Klaus was the only one they could torment._

_The moment was short and guilt came shortly after, but he could see his point now_.

 

Some were still trying to reach him, but he was floating several feet up in the air, and none of the dead or the living had a way to get to him. Strangely enough, none of the dead dare touch them or reach for them, avoiding the siblings like if they were bathed in Holy Water and circled by salt.

 

 

Ben took a step forward, the ghosts opening way for him to stray from the rest of the Academy, eyes overtaken by tears never averting from the ever so thin and sickly figure of his brother growing more and more skeletal as he forced the gates of heaven open through the rift he had managed to open in the middle of the sky.

He didn't react when he screamed his name and begged him to stop. Just like he wasn't reacting to the way trying to use his powers to reach for the other side was consuming him.

He might last just enough for all the ghosts in the world to murder every living person left and then waste away, condemning them all to be unheard and ignored, their only means of physical bearing dead for reasons he couldn't begin to understand.

It was the Apocalypse after all.

 

_But then again, he can't die._

_You saw that today._

 

“Ben, we got to go!” Five yelled, pulling through his shocked and horrified state in the way that only an 80-years-old time traveling hitman who had stopped another one of those before trapped in a 30-years-old man body could. His eyes looked insane and haunted, the relative peace and easiness of the last three decades of their new life, together and apocalypse-free now being ripped from under his feet to reveal a surprise apocalypse. “We gotta jump, go back, we're not going to make it!” 

 

“None of these guys are attacking us, we are going to make it!” Vanya cut him, defiant and outspoken and assertive and confident in the blazing white of her powers without blowing moons or murdering people. They had done such a good job with her, being there for her. What had they missed on the man whose _fucking soul_ was starting to be peel slowly off of his body? “We're okay, we just need to get to our brother! Talk to him since attacking didn't work! Nice to see you didn't learn that the first time around, by the way!” 

 

Diego cringed, a hand hovering over the loop where his now destroyed knife used to be, regret and panic dancing across his eyes as his face shifted to stone. Luther yelled something about now not being the time.

 

He knew they weren't much better.

Nobody was.

Nobody saw the end of the world coming.

Nobody saw Klaus bringing it forth.

They had lived through hell with Sir Reginald again just to fix that shit.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

Vanya was in control of her powers, they had remained close and connected and they were all working on where did they go wrong the first time around.

That was their second chance.

 

“V’s right! We didn't get to Klaus yet, we can't jump!” Diego argued, suddenly three times more nervous than before as he tried to work out just why the hell was his brother telling them to group up and get running without one of theirs. “You can't just leave our brother here!” 

 

 _Sober_ Klaus.

 _Supportive_ Klaus.

 _Unproblematic lookout_ Klaus.

 _In control of his powers_ Klaus.

 _Taking his second chance and trying his best_ Klaus _._

 _Easy to brush off because he didn't cause problems just like he was easy to brush off because all he would cause was problems_ Klaus.

 _Background noise_ Klaus.

 _Starting a life_ Klaus.

 _Somehow enrolled at College_ Klaus.

 _Drifting apart each year despite living on the same house_ Klaus _._

_Vietnam eyes Klaus._

_Clawing at death's door_ Klaus.

 

“This is not like last time, he's not like Vanya! We have no idea what set him off!” Five yelled, trying to explain to them how sometimes you gotta cut a putrid leg in order to save the rest of the body. “We can't reach him, we can't kill him–!” 

 

“If we leave him, we're going to!” Diego argued.

 

“There'll be another Klaus when we go back, we can try help him instead!” Five offered, trying to pull cards he could use to convince them in despair as time ticked by.

 

“You didn't help another Vanya, you helped our Vanya!” Ben yelled at him, with a fury that came from deep inside him, either from the monsters his body bid abode to or from his heart he couldn't tell. His hand pointed back at the floating figure of his brother, the tears still running freely. “I want our Klaus, I want my Klaus!”

 

“I can't get to him and we can't stay! We tried Ben, we did!” 

 

“Ben, Five is right—” 

 

Of course fucking _Luther_ thought he could get any say on this.

 

“Shut up!” He screams at his brother face, delighting to see the Big Number One cower under the meek Number Six’s rage. “That's the second time you kickstart an apocalypse! The last person to get a say in this is you!” 

 

Fire to gasoline was what his words were, because suddenly everyone was arguing with everyone while the Apocalypse kept on raging on raging it on behind them.

 

“I heard a rumor you people shut up for four minutes!” Alison's voice screamed over theirs and suddenly all their lips were shut, silence reigning emperor amidst the angry-faced, heavy-breathing siblings. “Finally!” She exclaimed in relief, throwing her hands up before resting them on her waist. “I don't like leaving Klaus behind any less than you people, but we sure as hell aren't going to be able to take him— which does **not** mean we should just hop to another timeline and live our teen years all over again, I'm done with _that_ , thank you very much. Why don't we merely go back two weeks in the past? It was when all this shit began to show itself, and we would still have our Klaus without having to have another fight with a fragile Klaus as of now to take him with us and risk him just starting this all over again. What do you say, Ben?” 

 

They all turned to him.

He turned to Klaus.

 

There was no living being in the streets by now other than them and the Seancé’s blue, pulsating soul was already out of Klaus limp body form the knees up.

 

It was as reasonable as things were going to get, anyways.

 

He turned back to his family and grabbed Diego’s hand with his left and Vanya’s with his right.

He couldn't voice his approval, thanks to Alison's rumour and he was thankful because he didn't want to.

 

He kept his eyes closed the whole process of Five getting boosted up to take them back to the past (again), hoping the less he would see of this, the less he would remember.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_Before they jumped, he heard the sound of a body hit the floor and the ungodly sound of the dead all silence at once._

 

_He tried not thinking about that either._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO THATS IT THAT
> 
> I hope you liked it, please comment and leave your kiddos to give some incentive my ass into keeping this story going
> 
> If any typos or redundancies were written, I'm sorry, it's 1AM and I need to sleep. I'll have it revised by tomorrow afternoon!


	2. the matter of a normal Tuesday where all your siblings think you're a bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> really, he just wants to go to his classes  
> let a granx3dma see her granx3dson rehearse his play  
> watch the bastrd on the theater at night. is it asking too much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never updated so fast in my life. Ever.  
> Neither have any of my fics been this loved this fast. Ever.  
> For that, I thank and owe you all, for the insane support and love. I hope this crazy idea of mine lives up to it. 
> 
> This chapter is rather slow compared to the last one, but I promise it will be worth it. 
> 
> I changed the fic's title as well, because I remembered these lyrics but not exactly how they went. Now that I'm awake, I could better do my research and find the theme song for this apocalypse.
> 
> Sit down, grab your coffee, read, relax. It's all a ride from here on.

The laziness that clung to his movements as he hopped out of bad was characteristic and he did not begin to purge himself out of it in panic because his classes today started later than usual.

 

Instead, he opened the third drawer of the bedside table, grabbing the thin paper and the loose leafs, starting the slow and customary process of rolling them up until he could be sure he had done a good enough job for it all not go to shit after he let go of the end of it. Then he took the lighter from the back pocket of his jeans and set the bundle alight on a silver bowl, letting the smell of sage fill the room.

 

He had been clean for 14 years now, his body had been clean for longer.

 

He watched the herb and the paper burn, the ashes and the smoke trailing up and around in circles and spirals. Fire was fascinating, ever since he was a child the first time around. He's sure this Grace appreciates him setting fire to things with some thought as to how not to spread them instead of just lighting up some tissue paper, throwing it in the drawer and jumping on the bed as it burned.

 

The ghost who suggested that had been a weird one.

 

Their birthday was coming soon enough and, a few weeks later, the anniversary of Dave's death, and he was looking less forward one than the other.

 

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, tilting his head back.

 

Nevertheless, Klaus grabbed his phone (that he managed to keep this time around, not pawning it off for drug money every other time he got one), checking the time once more before opening the Spotify App. His fingers hovered over the playlists _Songs I dissociated to_ , “ _the party beatch hits, to keep yourself from ending it all_ and i _n case it all goes to shit again_ before finally deciding for  _it shakes your booty and touches your heart_ and starting his bathroom routine to the sound of Gotta Get Up – Remastered.

 

“Yes, yes, I know, Adinah. I know.” He said, getting his towel as he waved a calming hand towards the small, scrawny old Jewish lady who had been stuck to his side for the better part of two years now. “We’re going to see your grandgrandgrandson’s play tonight, I promised. I have the tickets. It's Shakespeare. It will be lovely, but I have to shower first.” 

 

“I know, I know, Klaus.” She said, imitating his words while smiling affectionately from the (cushioned, velvet, fancy) armchair he had gotten her (when he realized she'd not leave). “I just want to be there for the rehearsal. I don't want to be late.” She raised a finger from her grip on her cane to point at him. “And it's not Shakespeare, it's Dante. There are other men who have written plays in the world, _kleiner_.” 

 

“We’re not going to be late.” He reassured her once again, winking at her before waltzing into the bathroom. “ _Entspann dich, Oma.”_

 

He had never had a grandmother, but Adinah was the closest to it he ever got.

 

Her face was friendly, likeable and warm. Her eyes were grey and her hair was a lighter gray. She had the wisdom of someone who had lived 8 decades and been watching from the dead lines for 12. When she spoke, there was always the German accent lingering to her words that she tried to soften.

 

Along with mother's presence, life was more healthy and stable than ever, if not less lonely. Dear Adinah didn't follow him everywhere like Ben did, but he didn't mind when she tagged along for his walks to and from the University. Jacob (her many-times-gran son) studied there too, albeit not Material Culture as Klaus did– he was on Theater and stuff, and it always gave the old woman a kick to spend the hours in which the necromancer was talking about the media, the creations of men and how they reflected them watching the younger member of her family walk around on a stage with lovely outfits spouting words of classical plays. Tonight was his debut on the local theater, and gran gran was over the moon with excitement. For 8 days she had been talking about how good of an actor he was on their walks back and he believed her with all his heart. All families have one great actor— she had Jacob, he had Allison.

 

Speaking of which, he should really ask Allison about the play. Some context maybe, so he could understand something of it. She probably knew it, she or Vanya.

 

Vanya. Oh, was Vanya delightful to be around now that they weren't keeping her apart from the rest of the family at all times and that he was not high enough to not be able to tell apart her words. He did buy two tickets so the old woman could have somewhere to seat, but he could always buy a third if it came to it.They had grown closer than expected, dare he say almost as close as he and Ben used to be. Almost as close as she and Allison are. Maybe he should invite her along.

 

Allison. Siblings.

 

He stared at his face at the mirror.

 

No, he was not unpacking that shit today.

 

Klaus ran his hands through her hair, pushing it back, fixing his clothes. He was, undoubtedly smoking hot and that meant he could walk out.

 

“Okay, _Oma_.” He declared, opening the door of the bathroom and allowing all the steam to leave with him. “Let's get me some pancakes and then we're off to see Molière.” 

 

“Dante.” She corrected a second time, springing up to her feet happily to follow ~~(her adoptive grangrangrandson)~~ Klaus out of their room.

 

“You're welcome.” 

 

He opened the door.

All of his siblings were crowded in the other side of it, looking at him with a mix of panic and concern.

 

“Klaus!” Vanya exclaimed, tearfully, moving to hug him. Ben cut her to it.

 

“Thank God!” He sobbed on his shoulder, holding him tighter than anyone had ever hugged him, really. “I'm so sorry, Klaus, I'm so sorry.” 

 

He hugged back, unsure and confused, looking from him, to now crying Vanya and Allison, to shaken Diego, to distant Five and suspicious Luther. He looked back to poor Adinah.

 

“Okay, so we might be late.” 

 

The old woman merely sighed, holding tighter onto her cane to brace herself for whatever crazy shit this family was about to bring up.

 

───── • ◆ • ─────

 

As it happens, he ended up eating breakfast as planned at the time he planned. Just with another six siblings on the table. At the same time. While they tried to explain that two weeks from now he would bring forth the end of the world.

 

“Does this mean we should start a club?” He had asked Vanya in an conspiratory manner, after a few seconds of silence.

 

Despite the situation, she smiled. He counted that as a win.

 

“This is serious Klaus.” Luther exclaimed, so rudely ignoring the blueberry pancakes mother had made him. Well, Klaus was still hungry and Luther was a dick, so he leaned over the table and grabbed his plate. “Hey—!” 

 

“Yes, it's very serious, indeed!” Klaus exclaimed, emulating his brother's tone of voice. “Not only is the most useless brother of this family— shush, let me talk, Ben — bringing forth the apocalypse that you six escaped from, but he was also left behind in the collapsing world filled with screaming dead people for eternity, because, and I want to get this straight— what a terrible concept— one of my powers is that I _can't_ die. Did I get it right?” 

 

They all looked inbetween each other.

 

“You can also fly.” Ben added.

 

“Now it's about right.” Diego voiced.

 

First he hummed, face twisted in fake understanding. Then he laughed, delighted, wiping the corner of his eyes under his siblings’ disapproving gaze. What a funny little tale to kick off his morning, and with so much effort from his family as well. How long had it been since all six of them had paid so much attention to him at once? Long, that's for sure.

 

“Oh, thank you. I needed that.” He said, getting up from the table and grabbing his coat and bag. “But I must leave now, places to go, rehearsals to watch, classes to attend.  _Oma,_ can you promise not to go in a murder rampage if I ever invoke an apocalyptical dead army?” 

 

“Who would I kill?” She asked, non-chalantly, standing up as she shrugged and moved to take Klaus arm so they could walk together as they always did. “All the bastards I hate are already dead.” 

 

“Oh, I love you.” 

 

“Klaus, could you please invest a dime in the end if the world this time, please?!” Five argues, popping in front of him. “Seven billion people are dying!

 

 He tilted slightly to look at the window over his brother's shoulder. 

 

“They seem pretty alive to me.” 

 

“They won't be in two weeks!” 

 

“So we fix that in two weeks.” He shrugged, sidestepping his brother to continue on his merry way.

 

“Klaus, you died.” Ben said, and that makes him stop. Not the words, but the tone of voice, broken and pained and hurt like nothing else. “You're going to die.” 

 

“Not my first time.” He shoots over his shoulder, because there's no way in hell he's looking at whatever tear stricken face Ben has on right now.

 

“Do you have any idea what you might had been trying to do?” Vanya cut in, always sensible, always practical. No screaming, no guilt tripping him. “You were opening a portal of sorts to the after life, why? Do you think you could… tell us a reason?” 

 

He thinks he could, yeah.

 

A breath in, a breath out.

 

“Maybe I was trying to get to my class on time.” 

 

He pushes the door and leaves the academy, walking faster than usual, only not running because poor granny's legs wouldn't be able to keep up. Cold, thin hand, holding onto her. Reassuring hand rubbing his arm. Concerned eyes looking at him as his brain starts to play faster than it should, nearing insanity.

 

“Are you okay, _kleiner_?” Her deep, soft voice asks after a minute or two has passed.

 

Nope.

Probably not.

He would wish for drugs, but they would whisk her away and he didn't need that.

She didn't need that. There was a play to see.

 

“Always, _Oma._ ” He smiles at her. “Always.” 

 

No asking anyone to go to the play it was.

 


	3. the brother you remember, the brother we have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus likes to think he does not retell the tragic story of his life inside his head every time his eyes lose focus (he does).  
> Vanya calls their siblings out (Ben listens).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THREE CHAPTERS IN THREE DAYS, YEEET
> 
> I'll probably still post a chapter tomorrow, but don't expect any updates on the weekend, pls— I'll be writing as much as I can so I can program to have it posted in a schedule when my classes return next Monday.
> 
> I have a writer Tumblr (mostly overridden by Tudor content) which username is the same as mine here , but feel free to get updates and informations from there or to simply send me asks and ideas! I'd love to interact more with this wholesome fandom! 
> 
> This one's still real slow, but Vanya is a good sister and Ben is a good brother too. Now, no more me babbling. To the chapter!

 

The first time around – when he was first alive, when he first grew up, when he was first thirteen, when he was first a virgin – he hadn't cared much about anything other than the gory figures on the corner of the rooms and the resigned pale faces of those who had met a peaceful end without finishing their businesses rummaging through the halls, the screams of some and the silence of others and the dread, dread, dread in his veins.

 

_He thinks he'd be a quiet ghost when the time came for him._

_Certainly, he wouldn't move on to the other side, with God not liking him and everything plus he most certainly would drop dead with unfinished business._

_Then again, he could just imagine that little girl in her stupid bike granting him the power of never dying so she wouldn't have to put up with his shit._

 

Well, needless to say that only caring about the things of which nightmares are made of hadn't made him the most well-adjusted adult of his family (and those were some pretty low standards), but he had lived the life of rock stars and celebrities and a little more – granted, a little less expensive flats and mansions and a little more gutters and dirty alleyways, but still– No drink left untouched, no drug left undiscovered. Jesus, even Vanya’s pills had been taken at some point — did that take a fucking edge off. 

 

_He’d be a quiet ghost because all the voice he had had he would have used in life. If people didn't pay any mind when he owned a pulse, he'd not harbour any hopes regarding his spectral form._

_No one would see him anyways._

_No one but himself could._

_Not even he would have wanted to_.

 

Now, when you're 13 a second time around with 30 years of terrible life choices under your belt and a pretty good sense of where it all started (now) and where your life would be heading after every single one of those (nowhere), one kind of rethink what steps to take next to not fuck everything all over again with a different twist. 

 

Klaus had frozen, scared shitless to even attempt a step, too terrifyingly aware of the dragonfly effect every single one or his decisions could start. 

 

_He learned nine months into the new timeline it was actually “butterfly effect”, when Five cuts him him off mid sentence to correct him rudely and with his usual air of superiority before proceeds to go on and on about how stupid he was._

 

 _If he had heard the first part of the question, in which Klaus had managed to ask him if any of his equations or knowledge could give him a hint of how not to end up the same as before, if there was any way to ponder out his decisions with just a hint of certainty to ease his growing, crippling anxiety, he didn't acknowledge it._  

_He didn't provide answers either before popping out of the room without a second glance to the scrawny child with trembling hands that had come to him for help._

 

_Klaus didn't ask again._

_Not about this, not about anything else._

 

_If he noticed that, he didn't acknowledge it either._

 

He and his end of the world can go fuck right off, he muses to himself, waving goodbye to excited Adinah as she waved back before limping her short steps in a faster pace than usual into the theater. Most of his family could fuck off.

 

He dropped the smile when she was no longer in sight, lowered his hand, ignored as best as she could how his fingers twisted for a cigarette and his mouth missed the taste of smoke. 

 

The sky is blue, the birds are singing, the grass is green, young adults walk from one corner of the campus grounds to the other building themselves a life. The ghosts are blue too, overlapping each other and mostly used to his unwillingness to react to them, getting out of his way as he walks to the building his classes will be held for the day.

 

Could he really end it all? 

 

He did want to from time to time, but he wouldn't ever want to go through with it. He's barely able to materialize more than three ghost per time, let alone give form to all the dead across the world.

 

A shudder creeps down his spine.

Closed eyes. 

The sun warms his face. 

He's alive. The world's alive. 

Dave's not alive. 

His family is alive. 

Adinah is not alive. 

Vanya is okay. Ben is okay.

He's not okay. 

The world's not ending. 

 

 

 _And if it does, at least he knows he'll be left to die this time_. 

 

 

───── • ◆ • ─────

 

 

Everyone is unanimously convinced that Four is up to something with how slithery he is about the whole situation, putting zero effort into thinking the matter through and providing no ideas or solutions about it.

 

Vanya wonders if that's how they chose to condemn her as well, without thinking that he's just enacting the role he's been given for 40 years now.

 

It itches under her skin, rubs her the wrong way, it comes from her stomach and bones. Klaus was always so small, so caring, with twice as much heart as any of the others, mindful in his randomness. Her book had elected him if not the best, the least worst of her brothers, being the second best sibling right after Alison (come to think of it, that was probably what offended Diego more than anything, being put as worse than Alison, but they'd all thought it was because he was elected worse than Klaus.).

 

“Did you honestly suggested killing our brother?!” Diego asks, deciding that pointing fingers is overrated and just straight up pointed a knife at Luther, his expression daring him to repeat the words.

 

“He can't die.” Luther brushed off his words’ meaning with that line, waving his hands as if to better illustrate his point. His movements were no less awkward without his gorila-like arms. “If we just… Snapped his neck, or something quick and painless, we'd have a few minutes to move him, get him somewhere if we notice he's about to–” 

 

“He can't die, but you can.” Diego growled, taking a few steps ahead, knife grabbed held tighter. “Did you fucking forget what happened the first time we discovered that power, dipshit? Haven't we killed him times enough?” 

 

“I wasn't the only one, was I?” Luther replied back, anger and lack of sleep getting to his already confused and struggling mind. “You got the knife back now but it doesn't mean I forgot how it looked in our brother's chest!” 

 

“I’ll snap both of your necks if you start trying to punch it off and then we'll have two less people to help stop the apocalypse!” Five stated, just glad that this around he wasn't 13, but 30 as he was meant to be. “How did he open a rift to the other side? I don't think he much get the math and the equations one would need to tear apart the fabric of space continuum to reach a higher plan, so what did he do?”

 

“He has more power than any of us ever knew.” Alison said, crossed arms, tired expression. Ben grunted in the back in protest, but she did not pay him any mind. “He probably doesn't know it either. He must has stumbled upon it like Vanya did and let it wash over him.”

 

“Klaus’ powers don't work like that.” Ben protested, his first addition to the conversation in more than half an hour. Concern was etched to his voice like it was etched to his expression: deep, unmovable and leaving marks. “He's not moved by emotions, he just… He doesn't know how to control these things. They're random. They probably overtook him if the last two days were anything to go by. They overtook him and he wasn't in control anymore, that must be it.”

 

“He can control them just fine.” Vanya protested, all eyes snapping to her now. Oh, she cowered inside, no doubt, but she remained expressionless on the outside, merely staring into the five other judges over her brother's case. It was her turn to be the defendant, and a better one than Klaus had been to her case if that. “Look, Ben you know things I'll never know about Klaus. You were stuck with him for 15 years last time, following him everywhere. I'm pretty sure you know every single thing there's to know about his lowest, most terrible points, but our brother is not a drug addict anymore. He hasn't been for 17 years. You guys ought to realize you can't treat him like he's still just drunk, high Klaus speaking blabbering shit on the corner.”

 

“I'm not saying he's using.” Ben said, frowning slightly. “I know he's been clean, I was there for him through that.”

 

“You were there for him him through withdrawal, you were there for him for the first year of being clean, you know he's not doping his powers anymore, but you're trying to find a way to see this– you all are– like if Klaus was just walking around with his powers, brainless and dumb and high and boom, end of the world.” She opened her arms, before gesturing towards Alison. “You know, I've told you about it. Feeling useless, like no one needed or cared for my opinion, like I wasn't part of the family– Klaus felt like that too. He feels like this still.”

 

“That's not true!” 

 

“None of you know shit about his life!” She goes on, never intimidated. “You figured out he was enrolled in College just because I mentioned it! Last year! He's been there for two years now! Do any of you know what's his course even is?” 

 

“History of Religions.” Ben said, defensively. 

 

“He dropped out of that one for Material Culture! Two months into the course!”

 

“Material what now?” Luther asks.

 

“What about German Studies?” Diego asked to no one in particular. 

 

“I think that was a language course. He learned german with a tutor.” Five aided.

 

“He has panic of busses, he goes everywhere on foot, did you know that?” She asks Diego. “You used to give him rides, but now he only asks them to me. He sleeps with his lights on because he can't handle the dark. When he goes to take a shower he texts me and he makes sure to announce it to the whole house, just in case assassins comes around again and we kidnap him, we notice he's gone! His anxieties are through the roof! He refuses to take his meds because he's afraid of relapsing. He goes to the therapist twice a week instead, but he used to go once a day!” 

 

“Klaus has a therapist?” Alison asks, brow arching. 

 

Vanya groans in frustration so loudly and with such emotion that the chandelier and glasses shake around them for a moment. Everyone shifts ever so slightly, but she can't manage to care. Klaus is in class now so there's no hope to reach him now, but she can try later. He had mentioned a play or a concert a while back. She could go for a walk and try to calm down and then go to him, ask about it, talk about life before trying to tear him apart for informations of an end of the world he had no ideas of how he would bring in and when. 

 

“I’m going for a walk.” She says, reaching for her house keys and her jacket. “Don't text him, don't fuck this up, don't kill him, just— let me handle it, okay?! I'm the best one to do it as it is.”

 

Ben wishes he could say it's because she had ended the world before and she could talk someone through not doing it. Then again, he's looking at the floor, trying to piece the Klaus she brought to light and the one he had known into one he could recognize, but they wouldn't fit.

 

Somehow, some when, he had stopped knowing Klaus like the back of his hand. He couldn't figure out how.

 

So when Vanya bolted out of the room, he bolted behind her, leaving his siblings behind as he reached for their sister.

 

“Not now, Ben.” She said, paler than usual, hints of white creeping into her eyes. 

 

“I just want to help.” He said, an olive branch of a tone. “You know a Klaus I don't and I know one you don't, and they are both the same person. If we can… Understand him as a whole… Maybe we can help then.”

 

They looked at each other for a long while, not in silent combat, but in quiet understanding. The apocalypse was important, yes, but their brother was their focus.

 

“Go grab a coat, it's cold outside.”

 

Ben nodded, climbing up the stairs and walking to his room. He grabbed the first one he could see and ran back down, afraid she had only tricked him away as Klaus was prone to do nowadays (he was, wasn't he?).

 

Vanya was still waiting. 

 

They walked both out of the door in silence, knowing their brothers were still listening, still watching. 

 

 

───── • ◆ • ─────

 

 

He was half-lost in thoughts about an apocalypse of ghosts and of either being dead was as awful as they made it seem while Mr. Torres went on about the agency their ancestors tried to show through inanimate objects when he's poked pointedly at his side, which results in a sound that's halfway between a yelp and a choke. 

 

Klaus is not surprised, but he is annoyed, looking up to see Norman staring at him with a shit eating grin, Lauren sporting another not much different. She waves at him, to which he raises his right hand (Hello).

 

This time around he also had friends. 

 

Norman (not Bates) was 27, brown eyes, his haircut (curls with temple fade) was so damn good on him it might as well have been invented for him, bright, thought himself funny and a total pain in his ass. He also happened to be his second best friend, having inserted himself in his life with the power of sitting by his side all the time until he was noticed. He had heavenly patience too, managing to teach him a half-decent ASL dialect so they could talk but, most important, so Kalus could understand him.

 

Lauren was 29 going on 30 and had just one day shown up, sat on his other side and asked `Is your sister Alison into girls? Because I want to know IF I'll ever have any chances.’. Her answer was an unfortunate no, but she had only said that at least he was cool, before proceeding to ask for the notes of the previous classed she had skipped because of a killer hangover. Green eyes with golden spots, purple hair shaved on one side and cut in uneven wavy locks, freckles all over her richly tanned skin. She was his best friend, no questions asked.

 

They were a trio to behold, really. 

 

Norman starts to sign with his hands, slowly so Lauren can also pick up on the message. 

 

‘You done retelling your life's tragedy inside your head?’

 

There's a soft snort from when Lauren tries to stop, and a more sharp one from Klaus’ scorn before he awkwardly signs back at him. 

 

‘Fuck off. I don't do that ’.

 

_In the end he had taken his first step because of Vanya. Vanya who was always very lonely, who always thought she was powerless when she was actually the most powerful of them all. Vanya who had mentioned once upon a time that she really wished that there were more moments they could spend together. An awful lot of their time was scheduled for training._

 

‘Yes, you do.’ Lauren signed. ‘What's going on?’

 

 _He had went to Sir Reginald himself, alone. He was as intimidating as he remembered_. 

 

‘There's a ginger ghost dancing macarena by Torres. It's hilarious.’

 

_He had made his case with surprising dignity; said that his abilities, although useful for a lookout weren't powerful enough to grant as many hours of training as they did. He wanted to be more useful. He wanted to spend more time being home schooled by mom, and if his training hours would not be reduced, that they were at least relocated to a better time._

 

Both of them gave him an expression of familiar disbelief. They weren't buying shit. They never did. Vanya and Ben, that's what they were. 

 

_He would have to train long after his siblings had returned to their bedrooms, but Reginald had been unwilling to mess with Grace's scheduled chores. He had been put on the same schooling hours as Number Seven, and separated from the rest._

_He was told to be a fast learner and catch up to his sister quickly, to not give her or Grace any trouble._

 

Fuck.

He sighs miserably. 

‘Siblings. Don't want to talk about it.’

Understanding crosses their expressions, nodding as to convey that they get him.

 

_The first day, Vanya had tried to shoo him away, so scared that he would be yelled by their father (could they really call him that?) for being out of his schedule and messing his sister's in the process._

_She had been so glad to have him by her side daily, though. He had been glad too._

_She had passed him her notes, taught him subjects while he trained materializing ghosts late at night and delighted herself with his jokes and tricks, amazed with the fact the same spirits who had haunted him his whole existence now would whisper the answers to their tests over to him, so he could always keep up with her and be in classes with her._

_At some point, it had stopped being the ghosts and started being him._

_He had not been a great student by any means, but he had thrived._

_He had thrived._

 

 

‘We'll go to the library study at 5. You coming?’

Jacob's Celestial(?) Comedy started at 5:10pm.

‘I have a play to watch. I'll tag along tomorrow.’

 

 


	4. the idea

They had settled for the donut shop of their childhood, hoping the happier memories could lighten the heavy subject hanging on the air (it didn't work).Agnes smiled with her sweet and cheery demeanour as she asked what she could get them today (Vanya got a chocolate-kreme filled donut while Ben settled for a simple jelly one).

 

_As she watched the woman go grab their orders and return, she could only think about her and the assassin time traveling for a lifetime, never tired of each other and never less in love with each other._

_She envied her._

 

They sat on the table furthest away from the other customers, opposite one to another. The donuts’ plates laid in front of them and the silence laid in between those.

 

Vanya took a bite from her donut to try dissipating the awkwardness of she and her brother not exchanging a word since leaving the academy (the sugar worked)  

 

“This was the first place Klaus brought me when we came back.” Ben offers suddenly, in such a quiet voice that she almost misses it and, maybe, he was expecting her to. He had never truly shook away the 15 years as a ghost experience and no therapy must not have made anything easier. His eyes are stuck in a particular spot through the window and past the trees that seems to be showing the not very distant past. He smiles softly. “He said we had to celebrate me not haunting his ass anymore by ourselves, because we had already celebrated me being back with you guys. ‘The bastards had you thirteen years, I had you thirty. I deserve VIP treatment’, his words, not mine. ” Ben snickers a laugh, shaking his head before his eyes trail down

 

Vanya smiled too, picturing thirty-thirteen year old Klaus smiling as he snuck out with Ben to a donut shop, probably daring each other to eat more than the other and just enjoying him not being seen as crazy for talking with him, for no one looking him weird for buying things double and only ever eating half of what he ordered. For being able to touch each other without amounts of concentration for a power he didn't know. Happy for being with each other, and nothing else.

 

“He never told me that.” Vanya says, content to see Ben trusting her with this bit of information. “He told me a lot, but I don't think it was even a quart of what you guy have been through.”

 

“He doesn't tell people things like that.” He shakes his head, finding his memories now in the donut in front of him like it's a mystical being of infinite wisdom. His hand moves to indicate the middle of his chest. “He stores them deep down and he keeps the memories and the moments and the interactions all to himself, like precious treasures, and won't share them if you don't ask. Even the bad things, the ODs, his struggles, the mausoleum, it was always all locked deep down.” Suddenly, he sees how hypocritical that sounds, because he never has to ask him anything. He just watched it from the backseat and saw him not share it with anyone else. When he had shifted to a person, he had lost the bird's view and he had never taught himself to ask, always so sure he would be Klaus’ exception. That Klaus would come and tell him things without him giving the sign that he could, that it was welcomed.  He chuckles humorlessly, in disbelief. “He could have a best friend out there and I wouldn't even know, because I didn't ask.”

 

_He has two, Vanya feels like saying, and I didn't have to ask. I just had to be the first to walk in the living room in one Healing Thursday._

_Then again, she's pretty sure he doesn't know what a Healing Thursday is._

 

“He doesn't feel like anyone wants to hear it, so keeps it to himself.” The words ‘like I did’ cross her mind, but she doesn't have the venom to her to spit them out. “I understand how that might feel.”

 

Ben eyes shoot up to her face with understanding and then back down to the table with shame. He takes a bite from his donut (finally) and she welcomes herself to do the same.

 

“Reginald Hargreeves has been dead for two years and we still manage to fuck things up in the absence of him.” Ben muttered grimly to himself .

 

Vanya lowered her head.

 

_He had died one year earlier. Natural causes, no suicide. They had checked with Pogo. No murder, they had been there the whole evening._

_He died on his office._

_Next monday it would be two years without him._

_She had mourned him, but she didn't miss him._

 

Silence hung upon them once more.

  


───── • ◆ • ─────

  


He’d have liked to go a little more dressed up, with a little bit more work put to his hair and maybe some more eyeliner to make his eyes extra sharp. However, not only did that involved going back to the house and risking a way to high chance of running into one or more of his siblings but, to worsen things, it also might cause him to be late to the play and, as such, _liebe Adinah_ would never let him live that down.

 

Klaus, in all of his sober, dignified, scholar grace has to resign himself to brushing back his curly locks with his fingers, peppering some water to the terribly dried spots. Then he adjusts the coat (black from the loose and long back that allowed it to trail behind his movements, to the snug fit to his arms and chest that complimented his figures to the slightly loose sleeves and the feathers at the cuffs), shifting on the nicest shoes he owned and smoothing his pants (not wasting any opportunities to admire how good it made his ass look).

 

Green hues shift to the blue spirit to the ghost of a man who looked to be on his mid 40’s, dressed in 60’s fashion, watching him from the spot against the closed door of stall number three, hiding the ‘maintenance’ sight with his terribly big head.

 

He raises the ‘hello’ hand. The man grunts back in acknowledgement. Good enough.

 

“Well, how do I look?” He asks, turning towards him dramatically, hoping that his sense of fashion is still as on point as it had been during his life, if his clothes are anything to go by. “Good? Astonishing? Jaw dropping? Lovely?”

 

“Decent enough.” Was his cut and dry response.

 

The Seánce huffed.

_Rude._

 

_(Dave would have gone with ‘lovely’.)_

 

His hands reached for his phone, checking the time; 4:30PM. The rehearsal ended 40 minutes ago and _oma_ ought to be waiting for him in the spot they agreed upon – the bench near the pond where the freshman was bit in the ass by a duck five months ago – for a while now. He stuffs his device back in his pockets, his hands along with it before walking out the bathroom without a second glance to Peeping Tom.

 

The sun was a big ball of gas and fire and it still couldn't warm him enough as the cold air froze his nose, charged his lips and started to dry his eyes.

 

He hurried his steps, eager to see the old familiar old woman, to talk to someone who had heard his siblings’ crazy shit early today, for a touch both reassuring and warm over words no matter how cold ghosts could be. He also really needed his therapist, but Dr. Tremblay was having a packed week and could no sooner than next Thursday at 2PM, so he had to get his shit together until them. Hold it together, keep functional.

 

_(How had Dr. Tremblay put it? She had made it sound grander and nicer than it was.)_

 

There, sat on her bench, peacefully, was his emotional support old lady and a breath of relief was seized when she smiled at him, happy as ever.

 

“Fancy seeing you around here.” He greeted her, standing by the bench as she stood, hooking her tiny, bony arms around his. “So, spare no details, how fares our favorite direwolf? Am I seeing the next Al Pacino or what?”

 

“Oh, Klaus, he's brilliant!” She said shaking his arms slightly as if to emphasize her point, cane swinging with more of a fleur to it and a hop to her limping steps. “He passes all Dante’s anguish and pain with such perfection through the journey. It's a pity they had to cut so much of the story to make it more manageable for the run time..”

 

“Wait, wasn’t Dante the writer?” Klaus asks, slightly confused as he tried to tie together all the small bits of information he had been collecting regarding the mysterious story they were about to watch. The couple who had walked past them shot him a strange look, he returned them a smile. “Is this a millennium old self-insert piece I'm about to watch?“

 

They stop in wait for the green light. The theaters across the street, shining with those vintage light bulbs and the stylised posters for Dante's Divine Comedy hanging at either size.

 

_God wasn't funny, so what could be divine in a comedy?_

_Maybe she didn't like Dante either and he had coped with laughter._

_All power to him._

 

“I have no idea what you asked, but he's the writer and the character if that's what you wanted to know.”  Adinah goes on, unphased by Klaus’ weird words by now (or simply things she couldn't understand about the new age). “It’s a rather complicated story for what I understood, three very long book long, no less.”

 

Sounded boring, but he wouldn't say that out loud.

They cross the street, looking both ways before lining behind the three or four people already lined at the entrance to watch the play.

 

“What did you say was his deal through the story again?” He asks, shuffling through his postman bag for the tickets. Pesky little things, those two things.

 

“In summary, he walks through hell and purgatory to retrieve the love of his life's soul from heaven.”

 

The tickets almost fall.

 

Klaus grips them tighter, tongue suddenly stiff and dry as he steps forward, handing the tickets to the man managing the lines. He gazes questioningly at his very much one person physical presence upon seeing two tickets but only one person, but there are no questions asked when he lets him through, probably satisfied with knowing that it's more ticket money pocketed either way.

 

“Neat.” He mutters, to Adinah when they walk in, the dimly lit ambient not letting through the engines that turn and turn on the back of his mind.

 

They proceed to find their seats.

  


───── • ◆ • ─────

  


Diego opens his eyes to the dark ceiling, a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

 

He's been laid on the bed for three hours now, after taking mother's advise that no good solution came from a restless mind. His body is resting, yes, but he can't put his mind to sleep, can't bear the memories it carried over with him to this third chance they're getting.

 

Every time he closes his eyes, memories flashed by.

 

_“Klaus, you can't be serious!”_

 

_“Get out of my way.”_

 

_“Look, I know how you feel–”_

 

He had stopped him from making bad decisions before. It was a low chance of success, but he had had to try. He had knocked pills from his hands, took bottles away from his reach, pulled him by the back of the shirt before he could walk into a fight he couldn't win.

 

_“Get out before I make you.”_

_“But what you're doing is dangerous. I can't let you get your scrawny ass out there to do something as stupid as this and certainly not in the state you're in.”_

 

But he had also brought him to fights before, he had turned a blind eye, ignored his screams in the middle of the night, hadn't believed him about Ben, hadn't noticed when Hazel and Cha-cha, he had been the hand to punch him more than once, called him a mess, called him a junkie.

 

_A beat. Barely a beat. His head tilted to a side as if he found the whole process a pity, haunted, glossy eyes still red from tears bearing into his soul as he sniffed._

_“Don't say I didn't bloody warn you.” He had said, voice detached before he moved his hands abruptly forward._

 

_His feet weren't in the ground anymore, his back hit the wall and it’s pieces flew along with him when he was knocked through it violently._

 

He sat up.

The phantom pain to his back, to his ribs, to his sides, to his neck, to his head. The fear. Not again, not another murderous crazy sibling with crazy hidden powers. Klaus wasn't murderous, he hadn't even ever killed anyone (with the panic through his bloodstream, he didn't think about how his brother was a veteran).

 

Since when? How? Why? How could he have guessed, how could they notice it now? Did Klaus know? They had told him, sure, but his jokes might have been a facade to him knowing or to how we would overthink the whole afternoon. Then again, he could have just brushed it off (like they brushed him off) and never think about it twice (how bad could it be?)

 

~~He rubbed his eyes, wanting to peel off his eyelids. How could he stop thinking about that?~~

 

_Ghosts._

_Ghosts everywhere._

_Truly terrifying, nothing like Ben, ghosts filled the room, cold bony hands reaching for him and holding onto his hands and arms, pinning him in place. At least they didn't smell._

_Ghosts he had killed with his own hands._

_The one screaming at his face right now he remembers having killed at age 16, on a mission. A knife to the throat._

_It's still bleeding as if fresh even if the rest of his body had begun to rot._

 

He's walking down the stairs before he can think about it. He doesn't know what he wants from downstairs, doesn't know how risking running into any of the others helps anything but he knows he won't be able to keep his sanity if he stays in his room.

 

Maybe he can find mom… Maybe she can hug him and tell him that's okay, that all his siblings are here, that all his siblings are safe. That they'll stay that way. Mom would be good.

 

Pogo, maybe. He could give him some advice on how to go on, tell him things he has missed a second time around his brother. He's sensible and he has had over a year to detox himself from what father drilled into his mind the first time around. Pogo would be great.

 

A glass of water seemed the most urgent need to the knot on his throat tho, he decides as he walks into the living room.

 

“Can't sleep either, huh?” Five’s voice came to him as suddenly as his presence pops into existence on the middle of the living room, walking straight for the stash of drinks.

 

“Kind of hard.” Diego said, trying to rule over his tongue as the stuttering started threatening to begin. “Considering.”

 

_He tries to struggle, to break free. Five has it worse for what he can see through the glimpses over the spectrums’ heads. He was a bloody good killer, he had always said so himself._

 

Five snorts, not mocking as usual, but almost with a hint of hysteria as he pours himself the glass of whiskey. The kind of snort that precedes a laugh someone would release after struggling decades to save the world only to not know how to save it a third time. That comes before a ‘fuck this, we're screwed ‘. But nothing comes after, it's only just the snort.

 

His hand shakes, but Diego pretends not to see that.

They are a very good in pretending not to see things in the Hargreeves’ Residence _._

 

“Considering.” He repeats, tasting the understatement before washing it away with alcohol.

 

_Vanya’s white figure stood in the way of the door as Klaus took slow, dragging steps out of the living room, taking his sweet time on pulling the black knife from his own bloodied chest. Blood pooled and ran down, staining more his shirt. He didn't seem to care._

_He stopped by him, the ghosts kept holding his sides but left Diego’s line of vision as his brother approached him._

 

“I was thinking…” _Reliving it over and over again_. The knot on his throat tightens, but his voice, as weak as it might have been, carries through to his brother. Five turns to him. “D-d-do y-y-yo–”

 

“Deep breaths, Diego.” Five offers, surprisingly gentle. “Deep breaths.”

 

_The bloodied knife is in his hands as he smirks morbidly._

 

He complies. Breathing, breathing out. Breathing in. Breathing out. A warm hand lays on his back. He shivers, feeling bricks instead of flesh. Five’s by his side, tho, he's the owner of the hand, running it up to his shoulder and down to the middle of his back in a silent much needed support.

 

He keeps doing the movements when Diego starts to cry. He doesn't back off or sneer when his body is wrecked with sobs and neither does he pull away when he hides his face in his hands.

 

_“Do you mind if I keep this, D?”_

 

_The ghosts overtook him again as Klaus walked past him._

 

‘Do you think it was my fault?’

 

He never manages.

  


───── • ◆ • ─────

 

The curtains closed.

 

Adinah had stood up to applaud from the moment the play had ended to the moment Jacob had come to the stage to the moment the curtains shielded him from her vision.

 

Under the golden dim light, after hours of darkness, Klaus was frozen on his seat, with tears welling on his eyes and trickling down his cheeks, unmoving even when the other spectators began to leave the theater.

 

He was devastated and he was hopeful and he was conflicted.

 

And it felt like the end of the world, alright.

 

Because he had an idea.


	5. in which Five takes things too far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the bonding the apocalypse often offers doesn't make the rule that one Hargreeves ought to betray another in the worst way possible any easier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I OUGHT TO HAVE WAITED UNTIL MONDAY  
> BUT GUESS WHAT? I DON'T CARE
> 
> HOLD ON THE LITTLE SOFTENESS I HAVE TO OFFER BECAUSE FROM NOW ON
> 
> SHIT IS GOING DOWN
> 
> (i'll sleep eventually. eventually.)

Silence laid steadily over the Academy. Aided by the darkness, it almost made him feel uneasy – like a soft pressure to the base of his back; a continuous pushing with a lethal gentleness until he was forced to stand on his tiptoes, balancing himself on the very edge, trying not to fall. Surviving one more day, one more mission, one more ghost, one more life. The exhaustion of it all, the bitter prelude of counted cards before the kiss of death.

 

_Always around the corner, always inviting him in. Always asking how long does he plan to whither out of her grip._

 

_‘Forever’ was a coward’s answer, but he was one, wasn’t he?_

 

_Then why did the taste of the kiss linger on his lips?_

 

Klaus walked through the door, taking quiet steps forward until he reached the middle of the carpet, right under the chandelier and waited – for a breeze, for a shift, for an extra push and a final impact, for a kiss, for _the_ kiss – as his eyes took in the building, reminding himself of how it all had looked like after Vanya had crushed it to dust and fire.

 

Adinah squeezed his arm before sliping from his presence, walking upstairs without him in respect to his wordless request for time and space to digest his thoughts alone.

 

_She hadn’t mentioned his tears._

 

_She hadn’t said anything when he bought a pack of cigarettes only to throw them on the first trashcan they ran by, his cheek wet and his breath heavy as pieces of him broke and pieced themselves together over and over under his skin, tearing him apart and making him bleed while at it._

 

_She just walked by him, a hand to his shoulder when he began to calm down. A humming of a german lullaby whenn he tried to even his breath and ease his pulse._

 

_He was so thankful._

_So incredibly thankful._

 

He waited until she was out of sight, before slipping off his shoes, rolling his shoulders in a feeble attempt to relax before he closed his eyes.

 

The carpet and the wood tile were white noise and he focused deeper down, just like he and Vanya had practiced, trying to reach for the earth even when he wasn’t in direct contact with it. Ground himself before letting loose. There, under concrete and the beautiful monstrosity architecture had laid upon it, was the dirty ground, condemned to never again see light nor to meet fresh air and to not have upon itself the decaying process of no living being, be it animal or plant. The energy wasn’t strong in the house. Surprisingly, no one had ever died there. He seeps a little it of his own energy instead, like a mountain climber that fixes himself a hook in solid rock before getting to the ropes. He focused on the small vibrations that death emitted – the rebelling of the souls chained to this world – moving from dead bug on lamps, to flies caught in webs, to Adinah on her armchair upstairs, the victims of his missions and the wailing bastards on the mausoleum on the edge of the property. The fact that there are no more ghosts than those few in the grounds means his siblings are all away for the time being and it’s all too much of a relief.

 

_“What now?” His voice had shaken and he had made no attempts to hide it. Feeling the mausoleum wasn’t something he was keen on doing more than necessary, no matter how much concentration of energy the damn place held._

 

_“Try to… move the energy along.” Vanya suggested, her whisper breaking the silence of a sleeping house, tiring herself one more day by staying up all the late hours of his training to give him the hand no one else would offer. “Try to walk off the door. Don’t stress if you can’t just yet. We’ll figure it out.”_

 

His conscience slips through the door, moving to the streets and grazing the dead outside. Stab wounds, gun wounds, heart attacks, evils of age, car accidents, suicides and overdoses all account a little more than 65 spirits only on his street. He inhales the air, before letting everything loose.

 

Sneaking through the neighborhoods, through mains streets, skipping crowded hallways and overpopulated gutters in favour of buildings and well-lit sidewalks until he has not only gone to and through the downtown area but he’s also heading a couple miles off to west, until he’s reached holy ground, waves off death strengthening his grip. He counts the graves one by one and recognises about twenty of the spirits before his movements come to a stop.

 

_You’re not here, you’re not in Vietnam._

 

 

_Did you land yourself a spot upstairs with bike girl?_

 

It was simple and classy, white stone cut round, symbols engraved – a name, two dates and no sentences to boast off. It was cold and inhabited, no matter the skeleton who laid rotting beneath.

 

_You’ve been waiting 51 years;_

_Could you wait a few days more?’_

 

“Master Klaus?” Pogo’s voice breaks his concentration, pulling his conscious too fast and too abruptly through feet and feet of distances, eyes snapping open to gaze upon the ape who regarded him with more warmth and worry than Reginald Hargreeves must have harboured for the nine members of his household during his lifetime. "Are you alright?"

 

He had absolute no idea. Was he?

 

“Quite so.” He reassures him, wiping the last traces of salty tracks from his cheeks as he managed a smirk. “Where are the others?”

 

“Miss Vanya and Master Benjamin left not too long after you did.” He informs, holding his cane in a manner all too similar to the way Adinah had did earlier, on the beginning of this god awful day. Bracing himself for this family’s shit. “The others debated for about an hour before leaving as well, but you kids never really had an habit of telling any of us your plans after your started whispering in corners and comuning in the attic.”

 

Klaus’s lips twitch into a fond smile. _Since we time traveled from the future, you mean?_ He chuckles, partly at himself and partly at Pogo before leaning down to grab hold of his shoes.

 

“To be fair, you can hardly complain about me any longer, I usually spill half of my my plans whenever we have breakfast together.” He proceeds, jokingly as he invites the closest thing to a father figure he has to tag along on his trip to the kitchen. Monkey man obliged him, a curve suspiciously like a smile and a happy gleam passing by his brown (older and wiser than time) eyes. “Pogo, pray tell; if I bribe you with a cup of tea, would you indulge me in a retelling of how I was emotionally moved by an amateur play and how it has wrecked me, heart and mind?”

 

“You do not have to bribe me for–”

 

“Oh, shush! Can’t you see I’m trying to spoil you, you helpful creature?” Pogo smiles, openly this time arounds and shakes his head, the soft rumbling sound the closest thing to a chuckle he had ever heard from him. “Yas, finally!” Klaus celebrates, fist pumping the air as the ape takes a seat and lets him do whatever he plans to do. “Chamomile or black tea?”

 

“I’ll take chamomile, Master Klaus.”

 

───── • ◆ • ─────

 

“He did what?” Ben asked, a mix of enthralled and proud as he learned on second hand the story of his brother's slow but growing hold on his powers. “The bastard wasn't even able to get me to grab a bowling ball and now he materializes them to make piggyback races with you?” A scoff. “Unbelievable.”

 

Vanya nods, suppressing a smile as she thinks back to that particular afternoon. All the others were in class with Grace, Pogo had already helped them through all the homework they had for the day and the two of them had managed to act every bit of the puppy-eyes children they used to be to make him comply to their dumb ideas of how to spend time while Reginald was away.

 

Which meant the poor chimp had been standing on the edge of the property, a handkerchief in hand as Klaus materialized two of the most friendly ghosts he could manage and had them both jump on their backs before Pogo signalized them to start.

 

_Klaus had won, but she'd always been suspicious that he had cheated somehow._

 

“Apparently his weaknesses are shoes.” She confides, in a fake gossip-y manner that barely hides her urge to giggle. “They block death's mystical energy or something.”

 

“ _Shoes!_ ” Ben exclaims, as if the word is some outrageous breach to morality, trying his hardest not to burst laughing as well at the absurdity of the situation. “At least that explains why he was always finding excuses to take them off during missions.” He says, patting himself in the back as he connects the dots between this new information and the way that all of the sudden, in the middle of any mission, at any given time, there would be a Klaus running around and fighting people with only socks on, having found better use to his shoes when they were thrown against the enemies’ faces. “That's the answer for the apocalypse this time around? We put shoes on him and never let him take them off?”

 

_They have eaten exactly 7 donuts between the two of them by now._

_Klaus is a topic with surprisingly endless possibilities when one's invested enough._

 

“We can also have an emergency jar of spiders to throw at him…” She shrugs. “Just in case.” Vanya suggests, sipping her hot cocoa as her lips twitch amusedly.

 

Ben doesn't need to do anything but snicker, because they're both thinking about the same night: September 5th, 2002. The night in which Diego decided it would be a great idea to release a box of spiders under Klaus’ bed in the middle of the nonsensical prank war they’d gotten themselves in.

 

_He had screamed so loud that even Reginald got out from bed and, upon the sight of Klaus, dressed only in boxers, rolling on the carpet of the living room, trying to get the spiders off of him as he cursed a string of profanities in german, made a wheezing sound that sounded way too much like laughing for the alien-like being he was._

_Hence the forced cough that followed before he started yelling about the absolute lack of property of the situation._

 

They were smiling when their phones buzzed, smiling when they unlocked it and then it ceased when they read the text.

 

Vanya paid as Ben waited by the door, twitching with anger.

 

She led the way, lights flickering as her power pulled and bent and destroyed things as she walked, eyes bleaching white and ready for blood.

 

───── • ◆ • ─────

 

The thing about giving the idea people agree upon when it comes to the apocalypse is that you're twice as tense and keenly aware that any fuck ups that might occur will be very much your fault, no matter what others might say.

 

Alison can see the fuck ups coming from miles away as soon as they land two weeks back.

 

She’s not thrilled about that.

 

She’s also not thrilled that she has a killer headache as a side effect of the time traveling jump, neither is she thrilled that she knows as little about her brother as she did about her sister. She’s definitely not thrilled about being back at the Superstar for a family meeting with three members of said family left out of it after Five steals most of their father’s notes regarding their powers and trainings.

 

Oh, the trauma that poured from those pages made her nauseous (which did not go well when there was the matter of a killing headache, missing siblings and another apocalypse that they just might not be able to stop a third time) as Five read them outloud. The mausoleum, the fear of ghosts, the cowardice, the signs of a start of abuse of substances that would consume his life, the amounts of potential that he didn’t bother to reach, the sudden shift of personality at age 13.

 

“This is all useless.” Five groans under his breath, shoving the book into her hands before he grabs the bowling ball and discounts the anger on the pins ahead. THree are left standing. He groans frustratedly, as if he’s 13 years old again, “How am I supposed to know how to stop the world with a retelling of how Klaus didn’t feel like training and chose to stuck with studying instead?”

 

Alison sighs tiredly, picking up the book and reciting from where he had stopped.

 

“‘Number Four has made his case clear and, as such, I obliged his hunger for knowledge without sacrificing the little hold of his powers he still has. His training hours have been relocated to night hours inis schedule. He ought to adapt to the strict routine or to conform to what is deemed best of him.’” Her voice is exhausted and very transparently done with his shit, as she sets down the book and glares at her moody brother. “I’m tired of being the only one thinking here. You’re digging information on the wrong place!”

 

“Well, father always knew so much about all of our powers! It seemed logical!” Five says, throwing himself on the chair by her side, reaching to pull the journal back only to glare at her when her grip on it didn't relent.

 

“Did he know about the fact that Vanya ended the world and we piggybacked off your powers 20 years back?”

 

“Don’t you love it when Alison is done with every single one of us?” Diego says to Luther, smiling somewhat affectionately at her.

 

Alison winks at him, if anything for his attempt of lightening the mood while supporting her from the gaping hole Klaus had left when he had inched further and further away from the team.

 

_They really should have noticed that._

_The lack of his presence was like a needle under a cushion, the silence he had left behind was loud._

_She couldn't be comfortable having another stranger as a sibling._

 

“Look, Vanya said so herself. We’re trying to face a new problem with an old solution.” Bless Vanya and her wise heart, but also, damn Vanya and her terrible temper, stomping away from the situation and taking the second person to better know Klaus along. “Dad didn’t knew everything about us this time around. We were the ones with secrets on top of secrets to keep, not him.”

 

“So what do we do, Ally?” Luther asked, obviously the only one amongst them who had managed to rest the four hours they had decided to lay low for a while. “Vanya won’t pour the dirt on him, Ben doesn’t know him as well anymore and Klaus himself is going to slip out of any grip we try to have over him.”

 

“Maybe we shouldn’t be trying to have a ‘grip’ over anyone, maybe we should just talk”

 

“Vanya mentioned a therapist, right?” Five cuts her.

 

Diego frowned, confused but also very taken aback by this change of topic. He cleared his throat before breaking the silence. 

 

“Yes… She did say he was getting his shit sorted out for a while. Why?”

 

“Maybe dear old dad has her catalogued in here!” He said, with that excited and smug tone that he only took on when he stumbled upon a dangerous ‘eureka’ with 79% of chance to lead everything to shit instead of saving them as he thought he would. “Who would know someone better than a therapist?”

 

Oh, Jesus, no.

 

The others three shared a look that all but said _‘oh, honey, no… just no’_.

 

“Five, this is probably not the best way to–” Luther tried to intervene.

 

“Got it!” Five announced happily, closing the book victoriously before unceremoniously phasing himself out of the room.

 

Allison stared at the empty spot by her left, mind running way too fast through way too chaotic tracks as her body remained frozen and incapable of movement. Honestly, she feels like screaming. Maybe she should end the world just to stick it to Five. She’s sure no one but Five would blame her.

 

“Fuck.” Diego voices.

 

“Fuck.” Allison agrees.

 

Luther nods, drawing the line on the sand at cussing, but sharing the feeling.

 

They all stand at once to return the bowling shoes, pay for Five’s stolen pair and try to clean up whatever shit he’s about to throw in the fan. Midway through, she manages to text Vanya and Ben the situation they’re in.

 

In the rush, she does not notice when she selected one extra contact.

 

 

───── • ◆ • ─────

 

“Pogo, please, be careful.” He urges one more time, holding the stairs in lack of a better support he could offer as he looked up at the old chimp, who in turn looked through the many book spines in search for the right titles. “I swear I’ll miss you more if you fall than I’ll ever miss not reading those books.”

 

“Master Klaus, I’m perfectly able to pick books without falling and dying.”

 

“I’m just saying– You’d not like to be stuck haunting me, I promise.” _Ben didn’t._

 

“Master Klaus, do please excuse me, I need to climb down.”

 

Klaus takes several steps back, but not enough to not be able to make a run to grab Pogo if he was to slip and fall.

 

_He was very protective of his chimp-butler-father-figure, okay?_

_Lethal falls are bad when he’s not the one falling and that’s it._

 

Still, Pogo makes his ways down the (untrustworthy, on his opinion,) stairs with three books thick as bricks in hands and a serene smile to him, offering them to him.

 

“The books are not much like the play, but it was the least I could do seeing you that passionate about it. To make up for the cup of tea, that is.” He says, breaking into a smile and making Klaus do the same. Then something more passed through his expression, as Klaus shifted the books in his arms to better accommodate them all. He knew that look. It was the look Pogo gave him whenever he would sneak to his room or bother him non stop for help with homework, for explanations or simply to have talks about ideas and stories and more. It was the loving look he would give him whenever he’d to acknowledge that he was growing, that he had grown. He hesitates, pulling back a little before leaning his warm hand over Klaus bony elbow. “ I’m very proud of you, Master Klaus. Proud of everything you’re doing and did, with or without powers. Your father was proud too, in his own particular way, but I am and always have been proud the most. I hope you know that.”

 

Oh, great. He was going to cry again.

 

His eyes welled with tears and his smile widened, shaking his head softly before he rested the books against the table to their left, arms wrapping around Pogo and having him return the embrace.

 

_Had he ever hugged Pogo in his adult years on the first life?_

_Had anyone ever said they were proud of him?_

_Had he gave the poor monkey man anything but disrespect and sadness and disappointment?_

 

_Could he really fuck a life that was going so well?_

 

“Thank you, Pogo.” He whispered, his voice shook and he was unashamed as he sniffled, trying to wipe his eyes discreetly with his sleeve. “I really needed to hear that.”

 

His phone buzzed.

 

He groaned, not willing to read through Lauren’s drunk rambling if it meant breaking apart the sweet moment, but Pogo insisted it might be important, it might be one of his siblings. Oddly enough, it was.

 

“It’s Allison.” He said, opening the text with a worried frown.

 

_What would Allison be texting him about so late at night?_

_Was she in trouble?_

_Had they found out anything?_

_Were they in trouble?_

 

Klaus read in horror the text about 12 times, hoping it was fake. Maybe the knife of betrayal twisting on his back was just a misunderstanding. They'd not do that to him, even if they knew he had a therapist. Vanya alone knew and she’d not support such a thing, surely. Neither would Ben, no matter how much of their familiarity they had lost. Even Five– Five wouldn't dare, he couldn’t think– and Allison? Diego? Luther? Anyone, for Christ’s sake! They couldn't possibly do that, no matter what they thought he did or didn't do two weeks from now. 

 

[ **FIve is breaking into Klaus’ therapy records. Meet us there asap.** ]

 

Pogo asked if he was alright once more. He wasn't. The warm and safe atmosphere shattered as Klaus leaned on the books for support. He was talked into seating down, calls for Grace asking for a glass of water were made. Adinah limped down the stairs, concerned.

 

_With barefoot feet, he reached for the ghost of the Sweden Lady who used to live next door to his therapist’s office and felt the presence of six living in there._

 

_Six llving, and the procession of dead that followed his siblings everywhere._

 

He kept crying, but this time he wasn’t happy. He was angry, heartbroken and shaking with the pain of betarayal. He slipped on his shoes to stop himself from seeing the scene longer than he needed.

 

Fuck them. Fuck them all.

 

_All the while, from the mkemney he sat down, he had been cradling the book ‘Inferno” in trembling hands._

 

 


	6. the judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five's not the best brother and Klaus is really thinking if it's worth being a brother at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 comments, 3445 hits, 90 bookmarks, 436 kuddos  
> You people are crazy, this story does not deserve this much recognition!!!
> 
> Nevertheless, if you're reading this, thank you for checking in again and sir back, prepare a drink and some snacks, and watch the disaster family be at it again!

Five’s whole body was aching, all degrees of pain from all sort of different injuries given by every single member on his family who had grabed ahold of him while flowing through the door.

 

In the drive of shame back home (where even Luther looked particularly cross with him and to which Ben and Vanya had opted to call a cab just so they'd not have to spend 15 minutes more than necessary with their brother), he clung to the pain in attempts of hiding from the less than pleasant feelings that twisted his guts.

 

_He probably deserved it, to be fair._

 

Nevertheless, he was an assassin. He killed people, he saw the rise and fall of empires, countless wars, countries being founded and wiped from maps, history books being written and rewritten by those in power. He had lived for decades alone after the end of the world, buried his siblings’ bodies with his bare hands. He had been through worse than Allison's silent disappointment, had handled more than Luther's disapproving side glances, seen things that would make Diego’s refusal to look back at him until they got home and had people do worse things to his person than Ben and Vanya telling him they couldn't look at him in the face as of now, but none of that made the situation any easier.

 

_Was that what they put Klaus through all those years?_

_He made it look so easy, to ignore that._

_It certainly wasn't something he could bat away as a fly and crack a joke to finish it up._

 

_Klaus…_

 

_Jesus, what to do about Klaus?_

 

He tried not to breathe too deeply, feeling the shifting inside of his body, a broken rib(courtesy of a very angry Ben), worried through the conflicting feelings that evening was evoking that one too deep sigh might get him a punctured lung. After a particular miserable groan, Luther finally caved in, forfeiting the silence treatment in favor of murmuring a ‘we will be home soon’ in attempts to reassure him. He meant well but, in stark contrast with the last 80 years of his life, there was nothing Five wanted less than to go home right now.

 

Because when he arrived home, when mom fixed him up, when Pogo looked sadly resigned to their lack of explanations, when Klaus came down the stairs after the commotion caught his attention and looked concerned and eager to help and asked questions… He'd  have to look at his brother's face and lie. And the others would have to go along with it. And they would, each and every one, resent him more for it.

 

_“I've seen that look in the eyes of someone who doesn't know who they're without their high anymore.”_

 

Five leaned his head back against the seat, biting his lips hard as he tried not to whimper. Klaus had been wrong back when he had said that – not about the addiction, he was in deep for almost a century and with no chances of withdrawal. He was addicted to surviving and he was used to telling himself it's what needed to be done, that he had no choice, that it was the only way – but those words were falling short nowadays, being worn by use, being stripped away by truths –  He'd burn anything, throw anyone under, rip apart the very fabric of space and time if it meant he'd make it out, that he would make it back.

 

That's what made him a great hitman, that's what made him a shit brother.

 

_He wanted them alive too. Half of what he had done he had done so for them, to go back to them, to save them from being bodies under the ruins of their house, but he couldn't only be that selfless._

 

“God fucking dammit…” Five muttered under his breath, eyes welling with tears under his closed eyelids, clinging to the pain to justify them.

 

_He wanted there to be a family to go back to, a family and a house and a robot and a chimpanze and the sense of security and warmth and happiness he had lacked during all those years alone._

 

It was the broken rib, not the grief of letting his brother to die. It was the broken nose running down blood and not how he couldn't figure out a way to stop him, it was the swollen lips, throbbing with pain, and not hen fact he had been the only one turned to the scene, eyes wide, the only one to see Klaus’ limp body fall and break under the impact, cracking his skull spilling out blood and—

 

“Five.” Diego’s voice came through to him, in his troubled state, even if aided by a soft shake of his shoulder.

 

 _He thought about just how much more Klaus’ life mattered than the silent, suffocating judgment his siblings exhaled as they waited outside of the car_.

 

Five snaps out of his own misery, looking away the tears that clouded his eyes until his brother's face was clear enough to make out of the kind lines to his expression, no matter how crossed with him he might be. That was the thing about Diego, he learned, a thing that probably had played a role in the decade of their siblings’ life he had missed and that had lead him to cry earlier; he could hate everything about his decision, but he could not hate him– could not _not_ love his family, no matter what they did or said.

 

_He held the spare key to Doctor Miranda Tremblay‘s office tighter on his balled fist as he moved out of the car, slow and painfully._

_He focused on his phone, on the inside pocket of his jacket, relative untouched by their quarrel, with photos of a few dozen of notes he had managed to snap from Klaus’s file._

 

“C’mon, bro. I know it hurts, but Mom will fix you up.” He was still pissed about what he had done, but he showed his love in the gentle way he tried to coax him out of the backseat.

 

_He wasn't in the right. He wasn't doing things the healthy way. He was a shit brother._

 

_It would be worth it, no doubt._

 

It was hurting, yes, more than anything. But mom couldn't fix that. No one could.

  


_It would all be worth it as long as he had a living brother to hate him with the others in the end._

 

───── • ◆ • ─────

 

Klaus waited in silent, on his chair, for about an hour and a half before he heard Diego’s shity car park outside. Four heads snapped to the direction of the door, the air heavy with anticipation.

 

_Pogo knew what happened. So did Adinah. So did Mom._

 

 _He had always been open about his sorrows when sobbing his heart out. He had always thought that maybe if he put it all out it would hurt less.  M_ _aybe if someone hugged him while he cried that loudly, he'd not tear at the seams as he threatened to do so often._

 

Five’s multiple victims walk in somberly, taking spots diligently around the room and against the walls, accommodating themselves the best way possible as well as being mindful of leaving room for the hauntings that would inevitably follow. He had no qualms about getting his hands dirty if they were anything to go by. He didn't think the dignity  or the morality of it, with his logical mind, focusing only in the practical side of it. Whatever got them killed faster and surer was the way to go. They weren't loud like Hazel and Cha Cha’s, never had been. They were silent, observing, taking notes of all their sins and wrongdoings and following, following and following– never tired, never blinking.

_Mom had taken her spot back in the kitchen, but she would come by every so often to check on him…  and by check on him he meant shoving a new cup of tea in his hands whenever he finished the other. He hadn't manage to say thank you or to smile up at her, but he did squeeze her hand. Grace did not smile any more or any less than usual, but he took the kiss to his head as acknowledgement enough of his attempts._

 

Ben's always took the less space, having been reduced to bits and chops of themselves, ripped limbs and mangled frames floating and dragging about, always so easy to rearrange to make more room if needed be. The ones who scared him the most were the eyes who lacked faces, being held by an arm that lacked the body as they were made to look around by the twisting of their wrist. Ben's were silent, always. That did not ease Klaus in the slightest, tho, because he was very sure they'd howling louder than hell if they had mouths or throats to put to use. None of them had been there with him or Ben on the original timeline. Maybe his brother's violent death had eased their anger, satisfied them enough to break their bonds to earth.

_Pogo had retreated into Reginald's office, hellbent on finding something (Klaus didn't know what) important enough that, added to the fact his siblings had gone out of their way to get to know him in the manner that involved him as least as possible, had made monkey man more pissed than he had ever seen._

Diego’s came next, all sporting cuts in one way or another. Even though his numbers were still high, they were the least gory and Klaus appreciated it very much, because it was easier to look in the face of someone who had just one very well aimed stab wound to an artery than to look at the mess Luther's were, all smashed in some way or another in vital areas for survival in a way that reminded him of pancakes. Except for when the packages were leaking blood and smashed organs.

_Adinah had been pacing around in circles, huffing to herself and grumbling words and curses on a particularly  angry German, hands tightening around her cane as if was either a neck or the only way to refrain herself from swinging it at someone. Had she been physical, there would be surely a hole on that horrible carpet of theirs._

Allison's were a handful, but still worth noting nevertheless, because nobody knew what to expect from little Number Three’s twisted mind when it came to rumouring people into early graves. The classical guns, some creative use of pens, a shutdown of an organ, a sudden inability to breathe, swallowing the bullets they were ready to use.

Vanya’s were never there, so he was always left to wonder if his sister was or was not present, like he did now.

_He also wondered either or not her powers in vanquishing someone's physical form also did away with their soul or if it was always such an abrupt end that none could hold grudges over it, sliding straight to the next phase, whatever it was._

“Klaus? What are you doing here?”

 

_Klaus had aided his on their paths forward, cutting the strings that kept them bound to earth with care and diligence and whispers of apologies._

_Most of them had been on the other end of his gun back in Vietnam, some were his brothers in arms, none of them were Dave._

 

“Whatever do you mean, Benny?” He asked, his tone artificially cheery despite the hoarseness to his voice from crying, the viciousness carved into the lines of his face and in the dangerous gleam of his eyes. “This is my house too, right?” He shifts on the chair, leaning back against it in search of the comfort of the cushioned surface and the soft to the touch fabric, glad to know that at least the ghosts have his back, if nothing else. He lays the accusation in the most dissimulated innocent tone he manages. “ _Shouldn't_ I be here for some reason?”

Ben seemed to struggle with what could be said or not until Vanya walked in, serene in spite of the nervousness she ought to be feeling if her fidgeting with her sleeves were anything to go by, smiling at him with a sadness etched to the lines of her expression, bumping onto Ben in attempts to offer him some comfort. His brother didn't seem comforted, sighing and turning his face as if he had lost something and the bitter taste was a thing he had to endure alone.

 

“Hey, Klaus.” She greeted softly, resignation and frustration audible through the apologetic kindness.”Thought you were off with Lauren for the night. You said you were going to watch a play with a friend.”

 

“I went to the play.” He offered begrudgingly, finding rather hard to hold onto his anger when faced with his sister and brother's faces. “I enjoyed the play and I enjoyed the evening but it was quite ruined for me, nevertheless, just like my morning.”

 

A beat. Two beats.

 

“No bullshit, huh?” She asks, as hesitant and vague about the subject as she can manage. “How did you find out?”

 

“I’m not dumb for one.” He says, anger reigniting in his chest at the subtle confirmation that she'd intended to keep such a thing from him. God knows how he'd find out or if he would find out had he not received the text. All his fears and all his trauma and all of him, poured and archived away in the papers Doctor Tremblay stored away so they could yearly so they could assess his progress. “And _Allison–_ “ He raises his voice so the others can hear him from the hallway, listening to the quiet shuffle. “ _– is still shit when it comes to texting under pressure! You got one extra contact on that list, sis!”_

 

Quite arguing resumes, the shuffling of Allison's purse, Diego harsh whispers inciting a fight they can't afford, Luther pacing around the disaster awkwardly, a ‘shit!’ being let out when she realizes her mistake. Klaus scoffs, closing his eyes and shaking his head – they're so predictable sometimes, this mess glued together by trauma and numbers that they called family – he feels like screaming, laughing and crying all at the same time. Adinah's cold hand rests against his shoulder, squeezing some comfort onto him and he almost blesses her.

 

“Do, please, tell them to stop hiding behind the wall.” He manages to croak out to Vanya, eyes still closed as he reaches a hand to his shoulder, holding onto the ghost’s hand for support through this troubled time. “It’s ridiculous, their ghosts gave them away since they parked.”

 

_He tries to see this mess like Jacob would see one of his plays. The rustling of the curtains, the actors walking in stage, the conflict inevitable as they start running through their lines._

 

They take their time before actually shuffling in the crowded room (well, crowded for him, never for them) and he was almost pleased to find an air of shameful embarrassment hanging above the four of them like a heavy cloud over the heads. Ally shot him a sorrowful look that tried to convey her apology without any words before averting her gaze; Luther squirmed under his gaze, sneaking glances but never managing to keep them longer than 4 seconds, walking awkwardly around instead as if he was still trapped into a massive buffed man he had been; Diego held his gaze, the only one to do so, resigned to his spot as an evil-doer as he supported an all but passed out Five into the room, his head hanging down toredly, eyes hid down the shadows of the room.

 

_There are six living, one hundred and twenty dead and himself, who probably must be counted as an in between._

 

“Well, at least you have the decency to look like shit.” He said, green eyes glaring down at his bloodied, bruised and beaten brother (not an ounce of sympathy as he had not spared him an ounce of concern all those years ago). “Where did you go this time to get on this shape?”

 

_Six living._

 

“Klaus–” Vanya tries to plead, but he raises a hand to silence her.

 

 _One hundred and twenty dead_.

 

“Look at me, Five.” Five looked up at him, a cut to his left brow, a broken nose, a bruising right eye, a busted lip, a swelling face. The vulnerability in him at that moment almost mirrors the vulnerability of a scrawny ass man who had lost too much in the past to stand the current future, a man who had cried after leaving the bus and who had busted a suitcase and never told a soul how that made him feel like. A part of him is terrified, full of questions he doesn't want to slip through his lips, questions like ‘Was I that horrible? Then why did you come back for me?’. Instead, his words are harsh albeit his voice hitches at the end. He's shaking. “I'm going to give you one last chance at honesty. And I need you to take it. Where did you go?”

 

_And him._

 

Silence. Absolute silence, from him and from all others around them. Their eyes don't advert and he can see torture and pain and struggles beyond his comprehension but there's no words to express any of that voiced out loud, no explanation given. The seconds drag by and drag by and there's just his shaking desperation and the silence, always the silence that's worse than the endless screaming of the ghosts because at least the ghosts acknowledged him–

 

_Defendants._

“Answer me!” He demanded, the built rage flowing through his body and raising his voice in a way all his siblings were started.

 

_Jury._

 

After a couple of minutes, Five lowered his head and, this time around, even Diego’s lowers his eyes.

 

_Judge._

 

He can't stand it anymore, jumping to his feet with a growl as he balls his hands in fists, watching the blue hue take over them as he forces them apart, tearing through the thin veil of the limbo the ghosts around them are stuck in order to materialize them. There are one hundred and twenty dead in the room and there's only one of him– he never did this to so many before and he's terribly, awfully sure that his body will protest as soon as the anger isn't pumping his heart thrice as fast, when the shaking of his arms under the pressure of what felt essentially like holding two massive blocks of concrete apart stopped there would be only pain and stiff muscles to tell the tale. His powers might be as otherworldly as they wanted to, but like the spirits surrounding them, they could get physical in it’s toll.

 

He watched his siblings tense upon the sight of the ghosts, even Ben seeming uncomfortable as he shifted away, eyes hazed with bad memories as if he had pulled that trick before.

 

_Apocalypse him, no doubt. He was fucking rather a large spectrum of things for non-apocalyptical him._

_His life, his therapy, his family, the cards up his sleeves._

 

Straining under the efforts to keep the ghosts manifested he took a deep breath, lowering shaking arms until they were rested against his sides. His eyes snapped up to the ghosts, but they weren't looking at him, they were looking down at _them_.

 

_Judge. Jury. Defendants._

_He is just an executioner short._

 

“Were they at Dr. Tremblay’s place?” He asked, voice as dead as the spirits who nodded their answer with heads that looked a breath from falling off. “Whose idea was this?” Rotting hands lifted their accusatory fingers towards Five’s slumping form and he seemed to cave even further under the heavy truth. He could sink all the way under the earth for what he cares, this idiginacy and fire burning his veins like acid. His eyes pass through their others siblings, burning holes into their heads. “Did they know?” Ben’s victims are the only ones not to manifest, declaring his brother innocent in the process. “Neither did Vanya, I presume.” He says to the mangled frames, who do their best to show through their agreement. “At the very least that…” He mutters, sighing with his eyes closed, relief flooding through his body. He can feel the faint hint of tears pooling behind his eyes, a soothing balm to his betrayal wound but not really healing it. He opens his eyes and does his best to see past the fogness of his watery eyes. “What about the others? Did they agree?” The ghosts are unanimous on denying it, attesting to the fact that most of their siblings learned the lesson of their first run. “Who did that to Five?” Fingers point once more to Ben and Vanya and just like that, Klaus has no more questions to make or strength to keep them all there. He raises his goodbye hand, clenching it into a fist, dissipating the blue hue that coats his hands and lets the veil between living and dead fall once more, clouding their sights to the world of the deceased.

 

_He can't cloud his._

_He's always seeing more than he wants to but never what he wants._

 

It hurts less, if anything else, to know the siblings he was closest to had his back even in the wake of an end of the world he was meant to bring over. Some warmth creeps into his frozen, bruised heart at the thought of Luther, Diego and Allison sticking by their side, standing against Five as he reaches his hand through all the deepest secrets he had ever spoken out loud, all written down the papers diligently in Dr Tremblay’s handwriting. Nevertheless, the relief is as solid as the silence before Klaus opens his watery eyes, taking in the fear all of them display in variable level as a silent reminder that they still don't trust him, that they fear him – in a way he can't explain why… Didn't they say he had been mindful enough to not hurt them? – and that it's not a brother that most of them are seeing but a bomb. A bomb like a Vanya, a bomb they know better than to poke at and risk an explosion and the stunt Klaus just pulled must have reminded them of the explosion, no doubt.

 

_Would Dave be scared of him?_

_He'd never been before._

_No one had._

_No one had reason to fear little junkie Klaus._

 

“I hope you have enjoyed the information you got from my files.” He said, observing his wounded brother with tired eyes, feeling hollow to a point that his voice seems to be echoing through his throat and out his lips. “Surely you’ll have a grand time tomorrow when I'm no longer at my room and you can go and snoop about, dig every information you can.” He turns to the kitchen, catching a glimpse of Mom's polkadot skirt through the door. “Make the most of it, really, I don't give a fuck– Mom!” He calls, striding with shaking limbs and unsure legs towards the kitchen, itching and cold and tired like if he had been run over twice by a truck or was going through another withdrawal. “Mom, Five needs you!”

 

Grace walks in the room, frowning slightly at the sight of such a disturbed Klaus even though all the time she spent making cup after cup of chamomile in hopes to ease his nerves. Her hands reach out to hold him but he shakes his head, pointing over to the congregation of siblings behind him, her kind eyes than focusing on the absolute terrible looking Five and she barely brushes past him as she strides toward him, relieving Diego’s hands from his brother's weight, which allows Diego to chase after him despite Ben and Vanya telling him not to.

 

_He thinks he hears a broken sob, a whimper that sounds too much like Five to be Five. He thinks he listens an ‘I’m sorry’ being whispered through breaths of pained air, but he doesn't turn back. He's tired, too tired, and he can remember one too many occasions in which he was the crying one and Five was the one walking away._

 

“Klaus!” Diego’s voice calls, chasing behind him as he walks to the staircase (phone in hands and dialiging Lauren's number because if he doesn't listen the voice of someone who doesn't share a tie to the Hargreeves family he's going to break). “Klaus, please!”

 

“Not now, Diego!” He growls, like a wounded animal that can't be bothered to be petted while he tries to lick his wounds.

 

_He's not a good person. He's been raised by  Reginald Hargreeves, there are drawings on the hallways of ways to incapacitate people, they have traumas over traumas and they are angry and hurt and silent– they were not taught to be the better person and he doesn't care about how much he tried to better himself because there's no way he can be better and healthy in this hell hole._

 

Lauren doesn't pick up. She's probably wasted. He texts her instead, asking her if he can crash at her couch for a couple of days. It's all he needs, a couple of days to figure things out, figure his life out, figure a place to live. A couple of days for him to steady his feet.

 

“Klaus, you don't need to agree but just hear me out, okay? We've been through worse, you and I.” Klaus scoffs, inching closer and closer to laughing hysterically at the suggestion that they have been through something worse than his life caving under his feet slowly until he goes the Vanya route and says a big fuck you to the world, but his well-meaning brother proceeds. “All those rehabs I drove you to, all those hospitals I drove you from? The impromptu drive lesson on that ice cream truck? The apocalypse? Surviving Dad a second time around? We've been through it all, I just need you to listen.”

 

_His therapist had said so, he knew so but he was so eager to think they were family. That they could reconnect one of these days and that it would all be easy laughs and solidarity as the early years of this time-line had been._

 

“Not now, Diego.” He really needed to stop crying. He wipes his tears as if he hopes to tear away his lacrimal ducts while at it. What he needs, really, is to breathe. Cope through this the healthy way, no matter nor much of him wants a bottle to chug down. “Please… Not now.”

 

_He loved Ben and he loved Pogo and he loved Mom and Vanya and Diego and Allison and even Five and Luther but he just…_

 

Diego stops, hesitant and thoughtful as he rarely shows himself to be. Maybe he's finally clear enough

 

“Tomorrow, then.” He says, but it sounds more like he's asking. It's nice to anyone to at least sound like they're asking, like his opinion matters. “I can drive you to college, after breakfast. We don't even have to talk about this, we can just… Talk about your college, have some... bro bonding time.”

“Tomorrow.” Klaus lies through his teeth, never relenting on his way up. He's not doing shit tomorrow, nothing to do with his brother nothing to do with any siblings.

 

_He's going to flush his phone down the toilet as soon as he's stable enough to stand on his own._

 

_Okay, maybe not flush the phone, but getting a newnumber works just fine too._

 

There is a drain of energy as soon as he walks into his room, having ignored Pogo’s worried gaze from Sir Reginald’s office and anything else on his way. His muscles feel tired once more and he turns just in time to see Adinah to his side, physical to the touch, wise eyes telling him how sorry she is as she opens her arms. He walks into them without a care in the world, hiding his face on the crook of her neck and sobbing his heart out a third time just that night as she runs her hands up and down his back soothingly, whiapering in german about how they'd sort things out, how they'd get him somewherwe better.

 

_His muscles twitch, he's exhausting himself by having Adinah materialized, but she can slip into it just as easily as Ben had wished he could have during the entirety of his haunting. The physical toll of it is wearing him off, but he needs this._

 

His bags would be packed by the morning, he would have his last breakfast with Pogo and Mom and he'd promise to visit and he'd walk out and not look back. He'd crash at Lauren's, he'd go to College and he'd work through it with many many more sessions of therapy, after many many warnings to hide away his file better and he'd sit back and see what relationships were worth salvaging and which ones weren't. He'd not look back.

 

_He'd probably be better off like that._


	7. in which a sibling leaves (and the others are messes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben makes an educated guess.  
> Pogo is pissed.  
> Klaus moves out and Diego drives him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you.  
> Yes, you, reading this story and commenting and leaving kuddos and caring enough about it to continue reading. 
> 
> You're awesome and I love you.  
> Enjoy your chapter and read the end for some news and translations!
> 
> !!!! UPDATE!!!  
> More acuratte wordings of the phrases in German have been added thanks to the help of the reader @merveeille! Thank you so much, lovely, it would all be butchered Google translate without your help!

Ben and Vanya share a sad look upon seeing Diego linger defeatedly on the stairs, watching as Klaus rushes up and away to put as much distance between them as possible. They knew it would happen that way, but there was no way to get rid of this silly hope every sibling harbours that things would turn out better than they always do.

 

The sound of Klaus’ door slamming behind his back muffled the sound of Diego kicking the stairs, a heavy string of curses leaving his lips as he paces around the room. Ben sighs, a hand running over his face, leaning into Vanya’s touch when she extends her hand to pull him into a side-hug, head resting against his shoulder as they find some solace into each other’s presence and the fact that, this time at least, they were not alone in fending for their troubled sibling, no matter how hard he or the others made their job. Vanya mutters a ‘If they try to go into his room…’ but Ben was quick to squeeze her hand, resting his chin over the top of her head, opening his eyes to gaze around the room, to Luther and Allison sat side by side on the couch, the two other siblings left on the room (with Five being carried away to the infirmary, Klaus sobbing his heart out upstairs and Diego cursing his voice away behind them). She squeezes back, understanding what he means.

 

_They weren’t letting them do something this hugely stupid ever again._

 

“Well, that was terrifying.” Allison voices, standing up rather abruptly (startling Luther, earning an arched brow from Vanya and simply making Ben frown) only to take wobbly steps towards the bar on the edge of the living room. “I’m grabbing myself a drink, anyone else wants them?”

 

“Fuck a drink.” Diego announced, walking angrily into the room towards the bar . Ben’s surprised that he didn't come to silently brood over the situation until someone said something because the situation is just so ridiculously tense there's no way they can stand it without some social interaction between the six of them. Then again, Allison had already cut through the awkward silence with the offer of alcohol. “I want the whole bottle.”

 

Diego’s hand traveled through the multiple bottles until he found one that seemed to contain the most volume of liquid possible, grabbing it and cracking it open with his teeth in order to chug it down with so fervorously it might as well be his goal to drown under the alcohols tide. Ben had seen that before, in a brother that was dissolving in tears upstairs, and he had seen where it had led him in due time. He calms himself by thinking that two weeks was hardly enough time to make an alcoholic out of Diego.

 

Two weeks was not enough to do anything, he figured, much less to figure out who the fuck Klaus had become and to unfuck him while at it for the sake of the world. He didn't think they could fix two lifetimes of fucked up experiences out of his brother even if they lived a third lifetime. What he has lived through, much like what himself and the others had, weren't demons they could exorcise or a wall they could paint over and forget the damage under it, they were what made him and, most probably, what had pushed him over the edge.

 

Ben's eyes shift to Vanya, squeezing her hand to get her attention. Vanya’s brown eyes looked up at him with the ‘I would fight a wild beat for you, so what's it that you need?ʼ look she only directed to her favorite siblings.

 

“Did Klaus ever told you about Dave?” He asked in a whisper, hoping that their siblings’ bickering would cover the question but the room fell silently in the most unfortunate of moments. Vanya frowned.

 

“Who?” She asks, still whispering slightly, side glancing the rest of the room. Maybe they hadn't noticed, maybe they hadn't heard anything.

 

“What about Dave?” Diego shouted from the other side of the room, obnoxious through his frustration.

 

“Who?” Allison says, almost an echo of Vanya’s reaction.

 

“Dave? Who's Dave?” Luther asked from the couch.

 

_Ben closed his eyes and groaned softly to himself._

 

 **_Fucking_ ** _great._

 

“He was Klaus’ friend back when he was in Vietnam.” Ben says, trying to be as vague as possible in the way he talks about Dave because there's no way he's going to bare this massive weak spot of Klaus to anyone but Vanya.

 

“Vietnam?” Allison asks, frowning so deeply she might as well be willing herself to know.

 

All the others are as unrepairably confused as her and Ben is forced to realize not only did Klaus never went in detail about those ten months when talking to him but he had never as much as mentioned the bloody ordeal to anyone else on that house. He glanced back at Vanya, visibly tense upon the many questions their siblings would probably make but equally as clueless.

 

_Locked away unless he was asked, indeed._

 

The angry steps coming down the stairs relieve him because their attention was drifted off toward to the very angry Pogo that approached. He stops at the doorstep, glancing over them with the most judgemental look they had ever seen on the kind monkey's face.

 

“I hope you kids are very proud of yourselves, them.” He says, in a scolding tone that reminds them all too well that he too lived many many years with Reginald Hargreeves’ and there were mannerism he got down to a t. “Your brother has been successfully devastated throughout the whole day. Grace has used all the stock of chamomile tea in this house to calm him down and I can't remember having seen him cry this much since when your father was still actively involved in his training.” Every sentence makes them wince under it’s weight and violence. Pogo, nevertheless, doesn't seem the little bit willing to be sympathetic to them as of now or as of the whole week if his flaring nostrils and blazing eyes are anything to go by. “I do not know which of you stole your father's journal, but you are to return it in this very instant.” He demands and Allison, ever respectful and obedient towards Pogo even if she was anything but to their father more than a couple of time, pulls the black leather journal from her bag, not as much as an explanation that she was not the one to take it falling from her lips, only the apologetic air. Pogo takes it without thanking her when she walks to him to offer it back, failing to placate his anger and her dark eyes cast downwards in hurt. “This is shameful, absolutely shameful. You're a family, for better or worse, all of you. Act the part!”

 

He turns and leaves, and Ben takes advantage of the terrible atmosphere he leaves behind to tug Vanya out through the kitchen with him in silence. They go through the back door and into the grayishly dull courtyard (there is no God awful statue of him in this timeline because he's alive, but he still hates the place for the mere memory of it) until they're almost at the edge of the property, safely out of anyone else's ear range.

 

“Who’s Dave?” Vanya asks, urgently and edging into panicked as the seconds pass but Ben's secrecy over the owner of the name doesn't. “And what the fuck did you mean about Vietnam? Ben, you're freaking me out.”

 

He grabs her hands when she starts waving them around nervously, looking at her with the intensity of a thousand suns and urging her to stay silent and attentive.

 

“Dave's what in the other side.” He says, watching Vanya frown for a moment before widening her eyes in horror. “Dave is what Klaus was trying to reach for.”

 

───── • ◆ • ─────

 

It takes him a moment or two to process that no, these weren't symptoms of withdrawal, because he has been dry for all of this body's lifetime and a few more weeks by his minds fucked up calendar. Oh, no… The hellish pain that stiffens his muscles and makes his mind want to scream at the thought of moving as well as the way he's been grinding his teeth against each other almost until they cracked are just some of the consequences the aftermath of his powers bring over.

 

Klaus groans miserably like a wounded animal calling for a predator to end their suffering but none of the ghosts budge.

 

_Oh, fuck those ungrateful bastards._

 

He moves to sit up, mostly because he hates himself and partly because pain is his new addiction, it gets his mind off of thinking about things like the whole dreadful matter of yesterday _._ Adinah was already sat at the edge of his bed, the lack of the blue coloring to her attesting to the fact she was no longer materialized and, as such, restraining her attempts to soothe him to kind eyes, sad expression and words spoken in German with more than a little affection to them.

 

“Es tut mir leid, Kleiner… Ich hätte dich nicht so sehr erschöpfen sollen, meine physische Präsenz hat zu lange angehalt, aber du–”¹

 

“Oma, du musst dich nicht entschuldigen.”² He whispers, letting what had been meant to be his mother tongue roll of his lips and ease his mind, if nothing else. Relishing in the familiarity of the sound, savoring the taste of the words, trying to pretend this was Germany and that he had a small family outside waiting for breakfast and that Adinah was his grandma and that all was great because he never got sold to Reginald to begin with. “Ich bin derjenige, der dir danken sollte. Gott weiß, nicht jeder hätte die Geduld so lange bei mir zu bleiben wie du es getan hast.”³

 

“Die Dinge sollten nicht so sein. Klaus, du hast es besser verdient.”⁴

 

“Ich weiß.” He says, trying to drive his words home, engrave them in the inside of jsi heart, carve them under his eyelids and bid himself to never forgetting them. “Ich weiß.”⁵

 

He gets up from the bed after a minute or two of this peculiar prayer, hissing curses as his body oh so begs to disagree with such a poor life choice, forcing him to drag his feet until he was in the bathroom, laid in the bathtub, shivering violently under the steady flow of warm water of the faucet as it slowly filled the bathtub and soothed his muscles. Green eyes looked over to the several deceased that glanced down at him, attracted by the mass materialisation he had pulled off last night while Adinah remained in the bed, facing away from him so she would not have to watch more of his suffering. One woman in particular, with dark hair and dark eyes, sun kissed skin and forging lips drilling blood, held onto the side of his bathtub, kneeled by it as she was, observing him intently with a bonus of a head tilt to the side to further enhance the sense of morbid interest she seemed to show to him.

 

Klaus sucks in a breath and slider to under the water.

 

_When he was 30 the first time around, he had already been on the streets for almost half of his life. The world had kicked him more times than he cared to count, with no ounce of remorse despite the terrible violence being used towards someone who was already down._

 

_He had lost two brothers, reached peak trauma and was being actively haunted by a very judgemental Ben all by the time he was 15. His remaining siblings slowly lost their hope on him and, one by one, stepped reaching out to him before stopping to try reaching out to one another. At one point, they were all strangers sharing the same last name and living under the same house, nothing more._

 

_They left in the expected order: Allison, with her suitcases and big dreams; Vanya, with her violin upon receiving her college’s scholarship; Diego, with his knives and his teary eyes for leaving mother and Klaus out of utter panic before the house consumed him completely._

 

_He crashed on Diego’s place and promptly left in  a mere a week, having realized full well that the house wasn't the black hole, he was. He wouldn't pull Diego into his spiraling life of chaos and drugs, so he just walked out._

 

_It would be a lie to say he never looked back._

 

He rises from the bath taking shallow breaths and rushing out of the bath to get dressed as if the water had demons in it. He's still shivering no matter how red from the boiling hot water his skin is. He tries to dress in as many layers as he can, in as many layers as can warm him, in as many layers as can hide his secrets, in as many layers as can keep the kicks from getting worse.

 

Klaus walks into his bedroom to grab the bags, makes his way past his siblings’ silent rooms in quick steps, ignores the soft barking behind him and makes his way down the stairs. Adinah is following as well as she can and he ought to be more mindful but he can't stay another second in here without wanting to commit third degree murder or suicide. Mom and Pogo are by the door, waiting patiently, as of they knew that day would come, that the moment would come and that it would be now.

 

Mom kisses his cheek, says how proud she's of her first baby bird to fly off the nest.

_That was Allison._

She gives him a pair of bubblegum pink shoes and he almost wonders if she remembers something… From the first time around.

_“Be safe, Klaus. And don't forget me.”_

Then she ruffles his hair and says she'll miss him at breakfast before walking to the kitchen.

 

Pogo doesn't say anything. He only hands him neatly packed books and Klaus doesn't have to ask which ones they're as he hands the ape back a modest cellphone and asks him to hold onto it.

 

As he crosses the doors, he has to try really hard to not look back now.

 

───── • ◆ • ─────

 

Diego opens his eyes as soon as he hears the soft creak the Academy’s ridiculously huge doors open, blinking away his sleep to peer ogwr his car’s window; blinding hangover headache aside, he sees Klaus’ scrawny ass sneaking of the manor at the ungodly hours of – he glances at his car's panel – five and thirty in the morning, two bags and a backpack in hands and fucking planning to walk all the way to (where? college? where was his campus, anyways? a hotel?) just to avoid all of them.

 

_‘The little shit’, Diego thought to himself while his lips twitched into a smirk._

 

As soon as Klaus closes the metal gate from the Academy’s ground, his back is to Diego’s car and he's muttering in German to one of his ghosts– So unaware and peaceful and innocent… Diego can't resist, honking loudly while his brother's guard was down. Klaus jumps about four feet up in the air with a terrified shriek before looking over at him (laughing uncontrollably, mind you) looking like he had nearly escaped a heart attack before laying his hand over his chest, bending over himself and cursing through his attempts to even his breath.

 

“Christ on a cracker! What the fuck, Diego?! ”

 

“Hey, bro.” Diego greets, playfully when he half manages to stifle the roaring laughter and get a casual tone to his voice. “Do you want a ride?”

 

Klaus glares at him (and if it intimidates him even for a second, Diego will die denying it) before breathing deeply, puffing his chest before standing up into a defensive posture, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Did you sleep on the car just so you could corner me up now?” He asks, distrust so clear on his tone it almost wounds him.

 

“Maybe.” Diego admitted after a few seconds of hesitation, earning a snort from Klaus as he muttered under his breath, reaching down for his bags and turning to go back to his merry way. “What? No! C’mon, Klaus… You never used to deny my rides back then.”

 

“You never used to be glad about giving them either.” He says, over his shoulders, walking forwards with no ounce of hesitation. Diego curses under his breath, pushing the empty vodka bottle aside and starting the car, driving slowly by his brother side while trying not to slow the street's traffic too much. Klaus groans, shooting him a dirty glance. “Diego, I'm really not in the mood to entertain you playing stalker.”

 

“You promised, man.” Diego says, grasping for straws to try and get his brother to budge. “I respected your space yesterday–

 

Klaus arches his brow, tilting his head mockingly. “By breaking into my therapist's office?”

 

Diego tries very hard not to flinch at the jab, but, let's be real, Klaus is entitled to them. He had acted out like that to his siblings quite the fucking lot with less motive to flail around. He sucks in a breath, lowering his gaze, trying to choose the right words.

 

“I'm really sorry.” It's what he goes with and it's probably the right thing to say, because Klaus slows his step ever so slightly and softens his glance with genuine surprise. So he has a good start, now he ought to keep it up. “I… Look, I can try and explain myself and I can give you a thousand excuses but what we did was shitty. There's no other way around it. Now, I can give you a ride and tell you all we did, no secrets or lies, and buy you some waffles before dropping you wherever it is you're going, but I'll understand if you don't want to. It's your choice.”

 

Twenty five minutes later they're in the car, Klaus bags are thrown carelessly in the backseat, Klaus himself is eating his waffles like he's a starving caveman (because his dumbass decided that after not having dinner, not having breakfast before a 38 minutes walk would turn out just fine) and Diego is finding himself more and more annoyed with his phone's GPS as it led him through the maze that were the city's streets to the corner of the block of someone's apartment complex (so he wouldn't know exactly where Klaus was going to be, which hurt but he found reasonable) .

 

“So, yeah, that's it.” Klaus declares over mouthfuls of waffles, waving emphatically. “I’m moving out and I'm staying with Lee until I get myself a job as a McDonald's cashier or something and can afford somewhere to rent.”

 

Diego frowned, trying to imagine how badly Klaus’ (lack of) patience would turn out to land him if he had to work with anything resembling customer service. “Don't you have a share of Dad's money in–”

 

“Yes, and Five would track me from there.That's the last thing I need.” Klaus finished the thought that he had not elaborated in his head, earning an understanding nod. He truly had thought things through, way too much in fact for having thought of that on the fly. How many times did he think of that before going through with it as he was now? “You know, I thought you would be trying to dissuade me from leaving the house a little harder…”

 

“No, it’s a wise decision.” Diego says, to what Klaus look at him as if he's grown a very sudden and very noticeable second head. “I will be caught dead before I admit it, but none of us have any idea what we're doing again and I don't want to keep hurting you like we did yesterday trying to fix it.” The words are heavy when they fall from his lips and they're heavy when Klaus hears them, processing the confession he had just heard. Diego, the most protective of his brothers, the one who was family all the way through no matter how callous he was about the ordeal, was admiring that they – that _he_ – wasn't the best for Klaus’ wellbeing (and that maybe they never were). The silence lasts for way too long, too insufferably long. So when they stop at the next red light, Diego punches Klaus’ arm for good measure, ignoring his brother's groan of pain. “Just promise to not throw your chip away and give me some updates, even very vague ones that at least tell me if you're alive or not.”

 

Klaus is silent from there on. For the full 10 minutes of their ride until a random corner of a random street, he stays so silent and quiet it almost reminds him of the time he drove Klaus to the Veterans Bar and how haunted and broken he looked. This Klaus is the same, but he looks different. He looks like a man who was given to much to stomach and who's still trying to figure out how he feels and what to do and it full on reminds Diego of how he felt the first time he jumped ship on the whole bullshit their lives at the Academy had become.

 

“I’m scared.” Klaus confesses, voice so low the wind might have carried it away and made Diego lose them. He doesn't turn, merely staying sat in place, waiting for Klaus’ mystery friend and letting him pour himself out in peace. “I’m scared of it being true, you know? Me ending the world? I'm messed up enough for that, I know it. And the shit I pulled last night? What if I did that to every ghost in this city, every ghost in the world?” His breaths are quickening and Diego’s starting to get concerned there might be an anxiety attack coming to Klaus’ way. “They aren't all that silent, they are very angry when they want to. And they're angry at so many people, people that didn't have anything to do with it, who are just alive while they are not. I can see them attacking like wild dogs, I do! And they would kill every single person in sight just so they would all be even, that's how they think! Christ, I could ask Vanya how she felt so I know how not to feel and I really need to talk to Doctor Tremblay but that's no longer a safe space for me because you–”

 

Diego pulls Klaus into a hug, right and reassuring, and let's him even his breath with time and ground himself by gripping his shirt and he allows himself to ignore his whimpers because Klaus is doing his best to pull himself together without turning into the next alleyway and asking for the strongest fix they have. Diego is proud, even when he doesn't say it, and Diego cares, even when he's a balled fist with hair wearing harnesses with knives. He pats the back of his thin, bony back and mutters something about taking it easy.

 

“I’m not letting anyone back at your therapist's office again, Klaus.” He promises and he can feel his brother relax under him, taking his word for a truth even when he's second guessing everything. “Vanya’s going to help always, you know that. So will Ben and so will I. And we're going to do it on your terms, and we'll force the others into following your terms even if we have to fist fight them like we already did Five. So… Take it easy, alright?”

 

Klaus nods, more to himself than to Diego before pulling back slightly, strangely at ease when you think he just had a talk with the sibling whose idea of comfort for about 5 years had been ‘hey, at least you didn't blow up the moon’. Klaus licks his lips, tries to will the dryness of his tongue away so he can thank him, but there's a punch to his side of the window that startles the living crap out of him and soon enough things are back to their weird normal, with him trying to get Diego to lower his knife and not kill Lauren while trying to get Lauren to stop threatening to ‘beat his bitch ass up’ if he throws that knife and daring him to throw said knife if he has balls.

 

“Stop trying to kill each other or I will kill both of you!” He screams, while Adinah is in the backseat asking for Klaus to materialize her so she can hit Diego’s head with her cane and lecture him about pointing knives at nice women. “Diego, she's my friend! Lauren, the one I'm staying with?! Do not kill my friend, I swear–”

 

They grab his bags, Lauren and him glare at each other while they do, and they're both in their ‘don't fuck with me’ posture while Klaus tries to help Adinah out of the car. His friend turns to Klaus for a moment, asks him ‘which number the asshole is’ and Klaus merely sighs before saying he's the ‘stabby one’. Diego’s eyes twitch, but the girl seems to loosen up a little and her stance relaxes.

 

“Oh, is he?” She asks, turning to him with a flashing smirk before slapping his shoulder a little harder than she would have if she was all playful. “Sorry, man. If I knew I wouldn't have threatened you as much. You're the third one I dislike less.”

 

She turns and walks off and Diego can only huff in outrage before climbing into his car.

 

_Klaus doesn't promise anything to him, but Diego knows he'll not leave him in the dark for too long. Won't send him descriptive texts of how his week was or call him every other day to catch up, but he will let him know he's alright, he's not dead, he's coping and not ending the world._

 

_He knows that because when puprle hair lady is already dragging his bags away and commenting on how little shit he owns, Klaus hesitates for a moment, looks down at him through the car window and taps the car’s roof and says ‘I love you, bro’ before leaving._

 

Diego smiles while radioing in for Eudora, letting her know he's on his way to the station. He smiles when he starts to drive away and he smiles a couple of minutes later when Klaus texts him that he's on Lauren's place and that he's alright.

 

He's getting the hang of being an alright brother when it's the most needed, and he supposes he can be proud about that.

 

───── • ◆ • ─────

 

Five wakes up to dull aching all around, keeping his eyes closed for longer than necessary in hopes that this will drag him back into the land of sleep. A wet snout doesn't let him tho, digging into his sides and bopping his hands in attempts to wake him up.

 

“Oh, Mr. Pennycrumb…” He sighs, realizing he's in his room and turns to scoop the pup, ignoring the very reasonable part of his brain that tells him not do all he's doing before laying the dog by him and scratching behind his ear as he lays his head on his stomach.  “We're in deeper shit than usual, boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, you guys!
> 
> Sorry for the short notes, but I'm only here to give you a heads up about the matter of a new work that will be published under the series (yes, can you belive it? This shits how is now part of a series!) called Keeping up With The Hargreeves!  
> It will be a series of one shots about various moments of the three lifetimes these characters have had and the first chapter will be focusing on Grace and her little birds as they fly from her nest (sensing a theme, huh?). It will be up next Wednesday and I'd love for you guys to check it out!
> 
> See you Wednesday and, in case that doesn't happens, see you back in this work next Sunday!
> 
>  
> 
> ps:. TRANSLATIONS  
> ¹ “I'm sorry, little one.I shouldn't have drained you so much, I overstayed my physical presence, but you...”  
> ² “Grandma, you have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who should be thanking you.”  
> ³ “God knows not everyone would have the patience to stick around as you have.”  
> ⁴ “Things shouldn't be this way.Klaus, you deserve better.”  
> ⁵ “I know. I know”


	8. a morning of coffees, resentments and gone siblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five attempts plotting a functional plan.  
> Diego talks to Eudora.  
> Adinah bites back her past.  
> Ben finds an empty room after unpleasant memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, that didn't take time at all, did it?
> 
>  
> 
> no, but really, I'm very sorry! college has been a mess and mental health hasn't been much better either. the fact that I'm trying so hard to make sure this fic goes as perfectly as possible is driving me up the walls and I'm just so insecure to write anything down!
> 
> but here we are, a crappy Mindhinter fic and several crisis later, chapter 8, everybody! and the water keeps heating up ready to boil them all alive!
> 
> hope you like it and hope you stick with me even with these long ass hiatus!

‘First thing first’, Five had decided while scratching the back of Mr. Pennycrumb ear, after taping a calendar to the wall and marking the dates he knew. They came back in September 24th, today was September 25th, the world ended October 8th and he knew jackshit about what happened between now and then for it all to go  so royally to shit as it did.

 

He puts the dog down, ignoring his whine, and pulls the desk on the other side of the room to under the newly converted doomsday’s calendar (not without a grand deal of pain), placing over it his notes and equations and the printed photos that he had taken from Klaus’ therapists files (he would never get used to reading in digital form, because paper was superior and he was an old man at mind and heart).

 

The outline was laid out, but staring down at the clues in hopes they'd answer themselves did not seem very serviceable (apart from the fact he was probably riding down his state of shock and not as much staring as he's glaring, hating every atom of every item and every aspect of him being back at this Groundhog Day experience of end of times he keeps finding himself at) especially with his stomachs growling for food and Mr. Pennycrumb’s pleading eyes.

 

He feels cold and tired and not really in the mood to face his family (especially not Klaus) at all. Nevertheless, he brushes his teeth, washes his face, stares in the mirror and questions for a brief, over dramatic moment why do these things keep on fucking happening. He then proceeds to punch the mirror, clean his split knuckles through curses and struggles himself into a new shirt and a fresh pair of pants, finally limping out of his bedroom in the most dignified manner he could.

 

Nevertheless, the hallway seemed to grow longer overnight, either to spite him or to make him unable to act on his slithery nature, forcing him to face what he had done by walking past those he had wronged. Most of them, that is, seeing Luther and Allison's rooms were in the very far corner, glued to one another (in a manner most convenient for the incestuous infatuation that had been fomented between the two of them) and he wasn't going to walk all the way over there in self penitence only to walk it all back, because it was all very counterproductive. No, he had four other siblings down the corridor to walk by and feel guilty while still making his way to the stairs and he found that route sufficiently expiatory for someone who was just trying his best when he so happened to cross a line in the sand he didn’t even knew existed anymore.

 

Even numbers and pair numbers' rooms were in opposite side of the hallway, but obeying no particular order, seeing as his room was next, at the right of the hallway, after Luther’s, and the next room was Vanya’s (he could hear her walking around in there, quietly leaving a voicemail to someone she addressed as ‘baby’, asking them to return the call as soon as possible before the sound of the shower followed the closing of her bathroom’s door).

 

He crosses the hallway then, passing by Ben’s rooms (where he can hear feet shuffling tiredly over the creaking boards and nothing else, which could only mean he had woken not that long ago) and walking towards Klaus’s. 

 

Eerily silent, but he was glad the sobbing had stopped if nothing else. Still, as his hand first hovered to knock on his door and then twitched into a more invasive turn of the knob that would skip his authorization to come in entirely, the heavy guilt on the bottom of his stomach made herself known, and he dropped the idea entirely with a sigh.

 

Finally, passing by Diego’s (quiet and still and most likely angry, but he had heard the angry and quick steps out on the hallway and heard his shitty car drive off, so he was fairly certain Number 2 had jumped boat at this troubled times) on his way to the stairs.

 

The bloody stairs were a troublesome affair, Mr. Pennycrumb always ahead and careless as he walks down the steps, sitting on the floor and observing his owner with a hint of impatience, as if willing his human to relearn how to walk properly. The pup hopped up and down the steps several times with smug ease as if he was showing a dumb creature how easy it is. Five wonders for half a moment how can his dog be as much of a little shit than him.

 

    “You’re not getting ice-cream.” He informs him, finally reaching the floor and moving to the kitchen, ignoring the deeply unhappy whine the animal lets out as if he suddenly understands English.

 

He tries not to feel too bad about the way he sees Pogo shuffle away when he walks into the living room. He tries not to worry too much that mom won't look at him and that Klaus dishes are not in the sink. He tries not to think of anything but his dog, that will die in two weeks and that only ever seems to want ice creams and belly rubs, but the sight of porridge just seems to be a reminder that he fucked up.

 

He fucked up because he made mom mad at him. He made everyone mad at him. He sits at the table like a convicted man, reaching for the mug. The coffee tastes like shit upon his first gulp and it tastes worse when he takes another, worsening with time, like many things seems to do around him. He drinks it without as much as a grimace.

 

First things first, the ends may justify the means but he must admit he fucked up.

 

───── • ◆ • ─────

 

    Adinah has always liked Lauren and has always liked being right about people, so when the girl in question stands proudly by a beaten cozy armchair that clashes with the 'practical in chaos' style of her apartment, claiming to have gotten it from her aunt's house especially for Adinah given Klaus many comments about his _oma_ 's appreciation for a good comfortable chair to rest her ghostly bones, Adinah finds herself having the best of both.

 

Sat on said armchair, with a pleased smile and murmuring to Klaus all the compliments she can spin about the fine young woman she's always know Lauren to be, she finds joy in the way her boy is sure to pass them along every once in a while and as his friend chuckles out thanks while displaying how she's been ready to be his safety net in case of there ever been the need for a while now.

 

She doesn't like in any capacity however, the sight of families falling apart. It didn't come to her, though the life she had had with Natan had been long and filled with troubles that made making it through the day every bit of the challenge it was, but they won every time. Their marriage was simple, but his eyes glowed with the same kind of happiness that had warmed her heart through all the years they had spent together. They had three boys and they had been close for all the years that passed, they had been each other's best friends until Noah was the only one left in the wake of Adam and Yosef's deaths. Noah found himself a wife after the war was over, one she had liked very much and who had presented her with two granddaughters she had adored like no other.

 

_It was over the younger that the tragedies had fallen. The small girl, always so scared and sickly and confused, with a newborn in her arms she could barely hold onto as she trembled._

 

She clears her throat, blinking away the sensation of moistness that's only a trick she's playing on herself. Ghosts can't cry. And her granddaughter is not here and Jacob is safe at home and Michael—

 

Lauren's phones buzzes on the table once again, but both her and Klaus are too far away and too deep in their bickering on the kitchen to notice. Adinah leans over for a moment, to read the notifications displayed across the screen. 'Baby V' has left at least two voicemails and sent a text that says only 'call me back when you can, please.'

 

“Lauren, you're going a bit overboard with this, aren't you? I mean it, really, you don't need to—”

 

Adinah glances over to the kitchen, where Klaus seems about ready to develop a new anxiety regarding staircases, and is trying to tug at Lauren's shirt for her to climb off the sink in her efforts to drill child-proof locks on the liquor cabinets.

 

“Shut up and pass me the screw driver already, Santa—”

 

The phone buzzes again. Baby V's name pops on the screen. Another text. 'It's important, it's about Klaus'.

 

A flash of annoyance coaxes out a profound feeling of anger. They won't ever tire of talking of him behind his back, not even the better ones. She drains a bit of her boy's energy, just enough for her to materialise her hand and to grab ahold of the phone on the table — she wants to break it, but that's only going to have negative consequences to Lauren, and she's in no fault for this — so she merely turns it off. He glances back at her, confused but mostly inquiring what's wrong as he passes the tools he's asked for along.

 

Adinah smiles.

 

“She's such a nice girl, _kleiner_.” She says, in her best praising grandmother-y voice, holding onto her cane before humming approvingly. “Stop complaining and help her. She's a good friend.”

 

He rolls his eyes fondly, parroting her praises along and the matter dies there.

 

───── • ◆ • ─────

 

As a rule Diego loves Patch, and he thinks she likes him quite enough too because the threats to shoot his dick off (or the more boring ones of just having him arrested) are exponentially lower than the first time around when they first went through the ropes. Nonetheless, it's also a rule that Diego sometimes hates Patch — not Patch herself, but working with her — and she hates it to a minimal (if at all), mostly because she gets to boss him around and she had a 60/40 chance that he will listen, instead of the 20/80 she used to have.

 

When he walks in for his shift, he does so by greeting Lena at the front desk, punching Herrera before he can punch him (which makes the score something of 68 to the poor fucker's 12) and makes his way down to Eudora's desk to lay down the latte she had texted him about earlier.

 

“Good morning, Diego.” She says, reaching for the drink without barely looking up from the files she has in hand. “We have a break in today. Trashed the woman's office but took nothing of value—”

 

“Miranda Tremblay?” He asks, fingers laid over the lid in order to keep the cup ok it's place, despite Eudora's tugs, glancing at the files with an unimpressed expression.

 

She looks up at him with the expression of someone who heard this bullshit before and is so tired of it by now they can barely muster a reaction to give.

 

“Was this you and the rest of the bat family's doing?”

 

Diego grimaces at the names, but shrugs. “Kind of.”

 

“You owe me a donut and you owe the lady a new office.”

 

“Working on the second—” He says on that flippant tone they both know means _Pogo_ is working on it, before leaning forwards with all the underlines of learnt-through-old-school-movies flirting she's used to by now. “Now, about the first— instead of donuts, what about dinner?”

 

“As long as you're not cooking.” She grumbles, all too fond as she gives the final tug to her latte that frees it from his grip, hiding the exasperatedly fond smile behind the plastic lid.

 

Diego counts that as a personal victory as he takes a seat across her, laying his boots over the table with a smugness that only grows when fondness gives way to annoyance in her eyes, narrowing into a glare before shoving his feet off. A booming laugh leaves him as he straightened himself on his chair, leaning over the table once again in a more professional way to appease his feisty girlfriend considering what's to come.

 

“Can I talk to you about something else?”

 

She makes a sound that resembles a baby seal in distress in ways he doesn't even want to understand before she turns her whole body to him, shaking her hands in a supplicant gesture but also in a very real threat of a punch that could knock out one's teeth.

 

“What else can you people possibly have done—”

 

“Miranda Tremblay is Klaus' therapist.” He says, taking her latte so he can steal a sip, never once breaking eye contact as Eudora's mouth hangs open in one of the rare occasions she manages to express all her anger through her facial expressions alone that no thousands of words she could articulate would do justice — not that she won't try to do so, by the twitches of her lips, and it's as good of time as any for him to step in. “My brother wanted to steal his notes, we beat him up and accidentally trashed the place while at it. Now, everyone's pissed, but Klaus is royally pissed and just moved out this morning.” Diego shrugs, sliding the all too creamy beverage back at her and wondering why he even tried at all at this point. “And I'm going by what you told me to: give him space, work on respecting his boundaries and decisions and what nots, but can we just give in to this one overprotective tendency and pull some strings to run a background check in a girl named Lauren?”

 

Silence stretches into a heavy awkward thing incredibly fast.

 

It's broken when Eudora groans miserably, hiding her face in-between her hands, mumbling something about how they are all fucked up while Diego tries to get the taste of the godawful synthetic sweetener off his tongue.

 

───── • ◆ • ─────

 

It's hard to realise that he had become a vanilla version of the brothers and sisters he used to criticize so harshly when he was no more than a poor caricature of an angel over his shoulder, telling Klaus to get his shit together. He's become an amicable stranger, the kind who used to know the other well, that has memories to bond over, to look back and joke and prod and talk but not a single one in more recent times.

 

He thinks about fandom thursdays' breakfasts where he'd sit by Klaus in days be woke up early and it would be only the two of them, and his brother would tell him random things, small insights that were almost small glimpses he was allowing him to have through the keyhole about this new life he had been living. Ben feels a blanket of warm shame fall fall upon his shoulders as she remembers his soft laughs and superficial answers, not due to a lack of interest (though it had been somewhat present) but out of a sense of fear and slight bouts of denial, because this Klaus was so similar and so different in so many uncomfortable ways.

 

He was looking at a known face but talking to a stranger.

 

Was be only that good of a brother because he had been stuck by his side? Maybe that was it. Maybe being a ghost and having watched a decade of his life from a bird eyes view was different than living with him. Maybe Klaus wouldn't let anyone in. Maybe it wasn't him, so desperate to spend time with his other siblings, to enjoy a life where he didn't need to be like a siamese twin to him and had expanded to everywhere else as a response. Maybe he wouldn't let anyone in.

 

But he had let Vanya in. Since their very second beginning. He had reached out to her first even, asked to be let in with a small measure of kindness and invited her in and, as such, Vanya knee him now. The him from now. And so did Pogo, and so did mom and so did do many other people he probably couldn't name.

 

Ben wonders if all those random Thursdays weren't a way of doing the same to him.

 

Maybe it was his turn to ask to be let in, he muses, walking out of his room and towards Klaus' door. Ask to be let in like Diego had back at the stairs, last night. Maybe all it really took was some effort, some care. Hadn't faht been what it took with him? With Vanya? With him?

 

_He had seen those ghostly figures being let out once before while still having breath to him, he had seen the wrath of God on his brother's face once before._

 

_He had been so scared. They all were. Because before the world could end, before Hargreeves killed himself, before they drifted away, there was him. There was the one mission he couldn't control the eldritch monsters under his skin, deep in his guts and they had eaten him from the inside out until there was only a black hole on his stomach and no life in his eyes._

 

_When the day rolled by again, the threat came by again and the team was sent out again, they were all holding their breaths. They had all stuck together until they didn't. They had all been close until they had drifted apart. He had been safe until he wasn't._

 

_He didn't want to risk, he didn't want to die again, but the others weren't there, no one but Klaus was there and he'd have no choice but to let the monsters out for too long and lose control and lose himself and lost and drift away until he was floating over Klaus' shoulder and he became unseen and untouched and un—_

 

He knocks against the door softly with only two knuckles, six soft knocks in a row like when they were little, so he would know it was him.

 

_With a scream, the man they had been fighting is being held up against a wall by nothing at all and there are ghostly figures all around them, glowing blue, crawling their way to him._

 

_Ben crawls his way back, panting breaths and panicked heart beating wildly as he stares at the horror picture that's taking form in front of him. It's a monstrous thing, unlike anything he's ever seem. Ghosts were always angry, too angry even to work together. So why do they do now?_

 

“Klaus?” He calls, but no sound comes from the room. He guess he's earned the silence treatment, but this does not make things any easier. “Are you in there?” Six knocks, Four knocks, six knocks. Ben, Klaus, Ben. It's me, Klaus, it's me. “Can I come in?”

 

It's all radio silence.

 

_His scared eyes turn back to the place where his brother had been knocked to before and his breath catches in his throat; Klaus floats several feet above the air, fists glowing blue and looking paler by the second in a way that one could not tell if he belonged to the living or to the dead. His glowing hands are open in palms, still unmarked by his characteristic ouija tattoos, and are both aimed at the manna's if he's the one pinning him in place, as if he's the one commanding the hoards of dead forward._

 

_He's never been scared of his brother before, but this seems like the perfect moment to begin._

 

Ben liked to think that if he drifted apart with his brother this had nothing to do with it; he was never scared of his brother. He did not look at him and remember the sound of a man's flesh being pulled by ghostly hands as his brother stares down in righteous anger, looking too otherworldly for comfort.

 

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

 

“Klaus?"

 

_“Klaus?”_

 

He's so scared.

 

_He's so scared._

  


_He's never been this scared before._

 

He opens the door carefully, but the room is empty. His brother is not there, but his bed is and so are the posters on the walls and all those crazy nonsensical things he had dragged in through the doors until the age of 14 — the wild variety, the chaotic splendour, the splashes of vivid colours amidst the overwhelming black, the eccentric lamp lights all over to chase the dark.

 

_“You took him from us once.” Klaus' voice strikes the terror filled air as lighting and booms as thunder and, if it's possible the blue glows brighter and the dead multiply around them._

 

Nevertheless, the closet door is open with no clothes hanging inside and the spot where his shoes are left is empty and his textbooks are no longer over the nightstand where they have been piling up this last years.

 

All that was him, the first him, remains as if a picture set up to entertain. All of what was the Klaus he knew is there. What is Klaus is missing along with Klaus himself.

 

_“And now I'm going to make sure you never get the chance to take our brother from us again.”_

 

His breath is picking up and there's a knot in his throat. “Klaus?!” He manages to scream over the suffocating bump, before he runs downstairs.

 

_It had all been bright blue and his brother's scream being echoed by the ghosts and the man's until it was just too bright and too loud and too much and he had to close his eyes and covers his ears and think this wasn't happening._

 

He runs to the kitchen, but there's only Five. He runs to the living room, but he's not there. Runs to Pogo's room and then Mom's room and the study and the library and practice room and the weird chamber Hargreeves built for Vanya, all the while finding nothing. He wants to tell himself this isn't happening.

 

_When he opened his eyes again he was alive and there was no more blue. No more ghosts. No more man. No holes on his stomach. There was only Klaus, weak and shaking and extending his hands towards him with an exhausted smile, looking like he had run the longest run of his life and won._

 

“Ben, what's wrong?” Comes Allison's voice from the end of the hallway, sleepy and confused and scared, hair in a disarray and still dressed in her nightgown as Ben runs ups the stairs, Five confused on his trail limping towards the stairs, making a straight line to the seventh room and throwing Vanya's door open.

 

_“C'mon, Ben the man”_

 

“Klaus is gone!” Ben declares, knowing damn well he sounds hysteric, but he has every fucking right to be. “None of his stuff are on his room, he's nowhere in the house I can't find him! He is gone!”

 

_“Let's get you home.”_

 

Her eyes widen and she drops her phone to her lap at the same time he hears someone downstairs drop a mug of coffee.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see y'all later, alligator.


End file.
